


The Carnivorous Carnival

by bewildered



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Challenge Response, Choose Your Own Adventure, Multi, Shameless Smut, Spuffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 19:57:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 141
Words: 233,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bewildered/pseuds/bewildered
Summary: In an AU season 5, a mysterious carnival has popped up on the outskirts of town – and Spike’s kittens are lost in it! Buffy and the Scoobies must navigate a maze of rides, animals, and deep-fried treats to help Spike capture all his kittens and repay his gambling debts. What happens in the story? It all depends on the choices you make. How does the story end? Only you can find out! And you can keep reading and rereading until Buffy and Spike have had not one but many incredibly daring (and possibly smutty) experiences! Choose your own adventure! More than 20 possible endings!!NC-17 because it does indeed get smutty. Don’t let the posted size of this beast fool you; the longest successful trip through is only 18 chapters, and the successful runs are ~40K words, so unless you are crazy and try to read all the paths in one day (which I do not recommend) it’s merely a novella.Written for the Elysian Fields October 2016 'Artistic Anniversary Challenge.' Banner 33 by Puddinhead.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> IMPORTANT: This is a Choose Your Own Adventure story. If you have never read this kind of story, the premise is simple: there are multiple paths the story can go, and you get to choose the path. The chapters themselves have been shuffled and mixed up to create delightful (?) chaos and confusion, and there are multiple ways the story can end – some of which are happy fluffy smutty endings, and some of which are decidedly NOT. To make things even more convoluted, the structure of the story requires some nearly-identical chapters to be posted multiple times because they have to GO TO different places.
> 
> What this means in practice is that you should NEVER use the “Next Chapter” link AO3 provides, or the chapter selection drop-down menu, to navigate the story! You MUST use the hyperlinks I have provided at the end of each chapter to get around! The “Next Chapter” link will NOT get you to the actual next chapter in your timeline. DO NOT FOLLOW THE AO3 “NEXT CHAPTER” GO TO GET TO THE NEXT CHAPTER AS IT WILL NOT IN FACT GET YOU TO THE NEXT CHAPTER! Skipping around and reading the chapters out of order is cheating. Don’t do it, please. 
> 
> Challenge details, thank-yous, and miscellaneous comments are in the Author's Notes at the end.
> 
> Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Spike parked his DeSoto half a mile away from the vacant lot and lit up a cigarette, waiting for the last dwindling rays of the sun to vanish behind the trees before heading out on his mission. He had hours, of course, but he’d been awake since noon, pacing his crypt, and he was bloody well sick of the company of his own thoughts, that was what.

Not that sitting in his car was any better, he supposed, but at least while he was driving he could pretend to concentrate on something other than how much he’d buggered everything up.

He’d kissed her.

He hadn’t meant to – he knew she wasn’t meant for him, that he was a monster, but she’d been treating him like a friend, like a partner, like a _man_ for months, ever since they’d gotten that nasty Glory business squared away, and there she’d been, sitting beside him on the porch, laughing and bruised and bloody gorgeous, and then somehow her lips had been soft and sweet against his, and if it hadn’t been completely unbelievable he would have sworn she was actually kissing him back for a bit there – but then she’d pulled away and looked at him, her eyes wide with horror, and run on into the house and… he had fled as well, back to the safety of his crypt where he could stare at the dead stone walls and reassure himself that that was where he belonged, among the dead, not mucking about with a living woman, no matter how brilliant and strong and exciting she was, and then _that_ had been too much and he’d scarpered off again to the back room of Willy’s, where he’d learned he had apparently forgotten how to cheat now that he was fighting alongside and chatting with and bloody snogging the bloody slayer.

But _god_ how she kissed!

He closed his eyes for just a moment, tilting his head back and letting the smoke trickle out of his mouth as he relived it, the good part at least, the part before he’d had to admit it’d been a bloody wrong call, like so many of the decisions he’d made over the course of his long existence.

Such as the reason he was headed to a vacant lot at sundown with a basket of bloody kittens.

And… well, the sun was down now.  No reason to delay any further. He crushed out his cigarette in the DeSoto’s overflowing ashtray and took one last peek at the wriggling contents of the basket riding shotgun before he shut the lid firmly and stepped out of the car, turning to stride towards the vacant lot where he was due to meet his loan shark.

Except, as he approached, Spike couldn’t help but notice that the lot was… significantly less vacant than he remembered from his last loan payment. It was, in fact, full right to the edges with striped tents, nightmarishly blinking lights, and rickety-looking rides. The overwhelming smell of deep-fried foods floated on the breeze, and from the depths of the hubbub came the tinkling sounds of a calliope playing some bloody circus tune.

Spike stood agog for a long moment, basket of squirming capitalized interest dangling forgotten from his arm.

“What the bloody hell?”

*

“I’m telling you, it has to be evil!”

Giles cast the barest glance at Buffy, keeping his attention on the road. “Yes, Buffy, I do believe we are all agreed on that point. A circus of this magnitude turning up on the Hellmouth overnight is unlikely to be benign. However, my actual question was, why do you insist on a frontal assault at this very moment? A little more research…”

Buffy interrupted. “No dice, Giles. What if this carnival is actually eating people? Do you know how many kids it could get in one night with the lure of funnel cakes and crappy rides? This is way more important than patrol.”

There was something in her tone of voice that didn’t ring quite true, but Giles couldn’t argue with her logic. “In that case, let us move on to the next question. Why, if this carnival is guaranteed to be evil, are _they_ all tagging along?”

Willow’s voice piped up from the back seat of the convertible, where the Scoobies were squashed like marshmallows. “Funnel cakes and crappy rides?”

Giles cast a disgusted look over his shoulder, to which Willow quirked a smile.

“I mean they’re probably _evil_ funnel cakes and crappy rides, but we can’t just send Buffy out to face those funnel cakes alone. She needs backup, and we are so willing to throw ourselves on the deep-fried-dessert grenade.” Her voice faltered. “Unless it’s actually, you know, a deep-fried _grenade_ , in which case we will probably, um, run.”

“Xander’s prepared to resist the evil deep-fried goodness,” Anya piped up. “He’s been eating Hostess Cupcakes this whole time, to counteract their diabolical attraction.”

A muffled noise from the back seat was probably Xander agreeing through a mouthful of revolting snack cake, but Giles refused to turn and verify that fact, as he preferred not to vomit while driving.

Buffy sighed in exasperation. “Don’t worry, Giles. I’m sure whatever this Carnival of Creepy has to offer, we can handle it. And you never know, it might _not_ be evil.”

“And here I thought four in the back seat was stupidly optimistic.”

*

Ethan Rayne gazed upon his scrying pool, regarding his grand creation with deep satisfaction. It was amazing what one could do with exactly the right artifacts and a rather large dose of creative inspiration.

He hoped his dear old friend Rupert would appreciate the accomplishment.

Truth be told, it hadn’t been all that hard. There had already been a fly-by-night traveling circus meandering down the California coast, so the raw materials had been there. All Ethan had needed to do was… extrapolate. Embellish. Add a sprinkling of dimensional portals, a dash of whimsy, and a hefty dollop of chaos magic, and set it all on the Hellmouth to simmer.

Or, more likely, to boil over.

The best part was, even Ethan himself didn’t know what might happen within the boundaries of his magical fête. That was the beauty of chaos; you didn’t need to fuss over getting any specific results, measuring ingredients and practicing accents and researching the bloody joy out of everything, you just… stirred the pot to see what bubbled up. All Ethan had to do now was sit back and watch the fun.

He couldn’t wait.

*

Buffy drummed her fingers on her thighs as they approached the evil carnival. She was antsy and on edge, and she kept telling herself it was because they were heading into peril, but… It was because they were heading into peril. It _was._

It totally wasn’t because she was avoiding… patrol. Patrol was what she was avoiding, or rather what she wasn’t avoiding, because she wasn’t being avoidy at all, she was one-hundred-percent non-avoidy-girl, because there really wasn’t anyone to avoid anyhow, and the whole point was, evil carnival.

Probably-evil carnival.

Whatever.

Her little litany of convincing-herself got her all the way to the parking area at the front of the carnival and out of the car, but then of course the house of aces-and-eights came tumbling down around her ears when they all made their way to the entrance, and there he was.

Spike.

The guy she was one-hundred-percent not trying to avoid.

He was staring up at the carnival with an expression somewhere between disgust and confusion, a lidded picnic basket draped incongruously over his arm, and Buffy froze in her tracks, because… it was weird. It was just too weird, and for a brief panicked second she thought maybe she could make a break for it, accede to Giles’s suggestion of more research and leave the carnival-busting for another night, but then Willow called out a greeting.

Spike turned in shock, then shrugged and sauntered in their direction, greeting the other girls and clapping Xander on the back – making him spit out cupcake bits – and trading some snarky insult with Giles, and Buffy still hung back a bit.

Because, well… things had been weird between them – or would have been weird, if she had seen him, so mostly just weird in her head – since the other night. No, she corrected herself – because pedantry was a fantastic distraction when someone you totally weren’t avoiding showed up unexpectedly to put the kibosh on the not-avoiding-thing – things had been weird between them since…

 

Choose a Buffy episode:

Blood Ties [GO TO CHAPTER 6](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20978780)

Triangle [GO TO CHAPTER 24](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20979629)

I Was Made to Love You [GO TO CHAPTER 51](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20980751)

Spiral [GO TO CHAPTER 84](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981645)


	2. Chapter 2

Buffy was startled from her reverie by the sound of a familiar voice; she turned to see Angel striding towards her, his coat billowing romantically behind him.

Immediately she abandoned Spike, running to the side of her One True Love. “Angel! You came!”

He took her hands in his, his eyes like melted chocolate. “I’ll always come for you, Buffy,” he murmured.

She just couldn’t help herself; she stood on tiptoes to kiss him, a tender kiss of greeting that soon turned passionate. So passionate that she soon pushed away, concerned.

“The curse…” she whispered regretfully.

“Taken care of,” Angel said softly. “I got my soul anchored, just for you.”

“Really?” Buffy flung herself at Angel again, wrapping her legs around him as she felt her lust rising now that they could totally have sex, which was the only thing that really mattered in a relationship. “Take me,” she growled. “Take me _now!_ ”

“Wait, my love,” he said, untangling her arms from around his neck. “There’s someone else here to see you.” He stepped aside, and she saw Riley standing just a little way off, face creased with his charming, all-American smile.

“Riley!” Buffy held out her arms, and soon she was enveloped in a good old Iowa hug, her two best guys wrapped around her like she was corn-on-the-cob and they were two yummy slices of bacon. “I ran after you,” she said shyly. “I didn’t want you to go.”

“I came back,” Riley said kindly. “I knew you were going to need me. You can’t handle the apocalypse on your own.”

Buffy nodded because she knew he was totally right, like he always was, then looked from one face to another with distress. “But now, how do I choose?” she pouted adorably. “I’ve got my One True Love and The One That Got Away, and I just can’t decide….”

“You can have us both,” Angel reassured her.

“Yep!” Riley beamed. “We completely get along now.” He and Angel exchanged a friendly handshake.

That was all the encouragement Buffy needed; she began ripping at the men’s clothing and her own, until they were all naked, despite the fact that all the Scoobies and Spike were still standing there in front of a probably-nefarious carnival. None of that mattered any more. Buffy had found True Happiness in the arms of her True Loves, and now she was going to have the Best Sex Ever.

Tragically, the incipient Bang-iley Bang was interrupted by a terrible roaring sound. The flap of the carnival tent behind them widened and widened, and with a rush the Scoobies and the kittens and all of Sunnydale were sucked into its gaping maw. And not just Sunnydale; Buffy saw the Hollywood sign rush past, then what looked like Mount Rushmore, and the Eiffel Tower, everything on Earth, and then the planets followed, and the sun, and then more suns and planets and asteroids and UFOs and a single baobab tree. The entire universe vanished into the void forever, and as Buffy herself was sucked into oblivion, she had one last mournful thought…

_If only the person reading this story had followed the directions!_

THE END

 

Author’s Note: If you have reached this particular ending, it means that instead of waiting for the story to be marked complete and then following the hyperlinks to get to your next chapter, you ignored the instructions and used the “Next Chapter” GO TO sneak a peek of something out of order. Shame on you! You’re just lucky actually WRITING the Bang-iley Bang was too revolting for me to even consider.

[Go back to Chapter 1](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20978552), make sure the warning is gone, and this time follow the hyperlinks to get from one chapter to the next. Remember: Skipping around in a CYOA makes the Spuffy cry.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Buffy waited until everyone was assembled before starting the sort-of-meeting, but she couldn’t help but notice a distinct lack of kittens in the other Scoobies’ possession. When Giles finally stumbled over from wherever he’d been hiding – some home base he was! – Buffy clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention.

“So, how’d it go?”

“Oooh!” Willow said happily. “We went on the Tunnel of Love…”

“It was… really nice,” Tara smiled.

Anya chimed in, “And we visited the Cliffhanger…”

Xander belched unhappily.

Buffy interrupted their gushing (and belching). “And the kittens?”

“What kittens?” Anya asked, looking genuinely perplexed.

“We followed ours!” Willow volunteered, giving Anya a smug narrow glare. “It was so cute, with its blue eyes and little brown tips, but… it got away.”

“Ours got away too,” Anya hurried to add. “But we totally followed it, just like we were supposed to do, until Xander got queasy and I had to put some wet napkins on his forehead.” She shrugged, not looking especially disappointed.

Giles looked vaguely in Buffy’s direction. “I have determined that this circus is indeed quite evil. On a completely unrelated note, do any of you have a napkin or handkerchief?”

Buffy opened her mouth to complain about how nobody was helping, but she quickly shut it again. They all looked so happy – well, maybe not Xander, and Giles was some weird British mix of satisfied and frustrated, but that was still, like, sixty percent happy, which she well knew was a passing grade – and it’s not like she and Spike had been especially focused on-task themselves.

She snuck a quick glance at Spike, who was checking the lid of his basket to make sure it was secure. No, she was not a focused Buffy at all.

Anyhow, summer was drawing to a close, and pretty soon school was going to start up again. Didn’t they all deserve a little bit of fun?

Didn’t _Buffy_ deserve a little bit of fun?

She sighed. “All right then. See what you can find guys. We’ll meet back here in another half hour, okay? In the meantime… enjoy.”

As the Scoobies scattered and Giles settled back on his bench, pulling out his little book, she grabbed Spike by the arm and dragged him off around the corner, so she could talk to him privately.

The second they got around the corner, to a little alcove behind the ticket booth, she looked up at him and he looked down at her, eyes flaring, and they were kissing again. God, he was a good kisser. She could just stay back here and kiss him for hours and hours…

But no, that wasn’t what she’d wanted to do. She’d wanted to talk to him about something, something that had seemed really important.

Oh! That was it. Her heart sank, because she really didn’t want to say it, but, she felt she really had to.

“We have to stop kissing,” she said firmly, holding Spike away.

“All right, then,” he said affably. “Just let me know when you’ve caught your breath, and…”

“No, not just for a few seconds. For good.” She quickly amended that. “Well, for tonight.”

He looked at her for a long moment, a series of expressions crossing his face. He finally settled on sardonic, which was a bad choice as far as Buffy was concerned, because Spike was somehow sexier when he was snarking.

“Finding it hard to follow your logic here. Quite possibly because you haven’t presented any.”

She flushed. “It’s not fair to you.”

There, he was on befuddlement now, which was… still sexy. Dammit. He made an impatient keep-talking gesture.

“I told you, I… I don’t know what any of this means,” Buffy said hesitantly. “I don’t want to use you, or…”

Spike interrupted, laughing. “God, just use me already.” He leaned in for another kiss.

Buffy placed her hand over his mouth, gently but firmly. “I’m sorry, Spike.”

Spike took a step back, tilting his head so he could look down his nose in challenge. Finally, he shook his head. “Well, I’ve heard what you have to say. Think it’s a load o’ rot, but I heard it.” He stepped close again, face determined. “Like to make a counter-proposition.”

“I didn’t make a proposition!” Buffy protested. “It was the exact opposite of a proposition, in fact.”

He rolled his eyes, clearly frustrated.  “Right. I’ll just be going, then.” He turned to walk away.

“Wait!” He froze in his tracks at her voice. “What… what was your idea?”

He turned and stomped back to her, jaw twitching. “You don’t know what it means, yeah? What say we find out?”

Buffy wrapped her arms around herself. “How?”

He grinned. “Take you around the carnival, show you a good time…”

She flushed. “A good time?”

Spike smiled slyly, shaking his head. “My, my, Slayer, what must you be thinking? Not proposing anything indecent here. I’m asking you out on a date.” He shrugged easily. “Though if you’re _interested_ in something indecent, I’m more than willing…”

Buffy interrupted him before he dug that particular hole any deeper. “You want to go on a date? Here?”

“Why not?”

“Well, let’s see. Maybe because this carnival is, oh, I don’t know, _evil_?”

Spike grinned unrepentantly. “I’m a vampire. You’re a vampire slayer. This circus has tasty treats, fun and games, and potentially evil things to kill. A bit of the rough and tumble, a bit of the _rough and tumble_ …”

Buffy flushed at the downright dirty insinuation in his voice. “And kittens.”

“And kittens,” Spike agreed. “A little quest to keep things interesting. Sounds bloody perfect to me.” His eyes dropped at the end, his jaw twitching.

He expected her to say no, Buffy realized, and it was that bit of vulnerability that made up her mind. “All right, then,” she said casually. “I guess we could go on _one_ date. Since we’re here already.”

Spike’s head jerked up in surprise, eyes wide for just a moment before they narrowed. “One?”

She lifted her chin. “A second date might be negotiable. Maybe. If you make a good impression.”

“A challenge, is it?” Spike cracked his knuckles before holding out his hand. “Deal.” Buffy reached out to shake, but was caught off balance when Spike yanked on her fingers, pulling her up against him. “Think this one might be best sealed with a kiss,” he drawled.

That sounded like an excellent idea. A whole lot better than her no-kissing plan. Buffy tilted her chin up in anticipation, lips parting.

Spike’s eyes lingered on her mouth for a moment before he grinned wickedly and tugged her hand up instead, pressing a lingering kiss to her knuckles. “Let the games begin,” he whispered, lips bare inches from hers, before stepping back. “Well then,” he said conversationally. “Dunno ‘bout you, but I like to begin my dates with a bit of kibble.”

Buffy looked at him askance. “You’re going to impress me with dog food? What, are the _bits_ second base?”

“Nosh.” When Buffy rolled her eyes, Spike rolled his right back. “Food, Slayer. ‘M offering to buy you a treat.”

“You already bought me a treat.”

“Weren’t on a proper date then, were we? That was just between friends.” Spike looked at her again, and this time his face was dead serious. “Different thing, buying a treat for my lady.”

Something in his voice sent a shiver down into the pit of her stomach, and she took a deep breath before favoring him with a slow smile. “All right. I could go for another snack.” She frowned then, looking around. “But we should really look for the kittens, too. Which way should we go?”

Spike frowned thoughtfully. “Wiccas saw the Siamese kitten by the Tunnel of Love, yeah? So the calico was around the Cliffhanger…”

 

Which kitten do they search for?

Calico: [GO TO CHAPTER 105](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982161)

Siamese: [GO TO CHAPTER 9](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20978912)


	4. Chapter 4

The elephant enclosure had a high fence, but Buffy didn’t even pause before vaulting over, landing lightly on the packed dirt. Spike leapt after her, leaving his basket behind. Oddly, he didn’t see a single elephant.

“You _do_ realize that Slayer strength won’t do you a lick of good if an elephant steps on you,” he muttered as they approached the tent.

“So I won’t get stepped on,” she whispered back.

“Right.”

The tent was small; now that they were right up on it, it didn’t seem big enough to hold an elephant, even a baby. Spike frowned, scanning the enclosure again: dirt and pond and huge bales of hay, but he didn’t see a single animal.

“Slayer, I am a mite concerned over the lack of animals in this animal habitat.”

Buffy frowned. “Yeah. It does seem a bit deserted.”

“Maybe the elephant’s asleep?” he said doubtfully.

“Maybe.” She set her pretty jaw and gave him that look of hers, the one that said she meant business. “All right. You open the flap, and I’ll grab the kitten.”

 “Righty-ho.” Spike took firm hold of the tent flap.

“On the count of three. One… Two…”

Spike pulled open the flap of the tent and saw…

Stars.

Instead of the interior of a tent, the tent flap opened on a cool night scene, tall grasses and scrubby trees and mounded rocks shading a smooth pond that reflected the moon and stars. A breeze redolent of musky animals and green growing things teased at the canvas flap, sending ripples along the surface of the water, and he felt his jaw drop open.

“Bloody hell,” he whispered.

“Oh.” Buffy’s voice was soft and awed, and she started to step forward onto the grassy savanna.

“Wait,” Spike said, but it was too late, she was already out knee-deep in grass, turning in a slow circle.

“Look at all the stars,” she said, eyes shining in the moonlight, and Spike threw caution to the wind and stepped out with her. He glanced behind him and saw the outside of a tent just like the one they had just entered, staked out in a little clearing.

“I’m looking,” he agreed, but he was only looking at her – he’d seen skies like this in his travels, unmuted by the lights of industrial cities, but he’d never seen anything like Buffy looking at a sky like this.

 

Now that they were out in the silent wilderness, he realized he could hear… heartbeats. Just a few, but loud and slow, far slower than humans, and then there was a deep liquid gulping, and he looked up to see the huge bulk of an elephant as it drank from the waterhole. He took Buffy by the arms and pulled her towards the rocks.

“What are you doing?” she grumbled.

“Trust me, Slayer,” he murmured, encouraging her up to the top of the rocks.

When they reached the top, she gasped. “Oh, they’re huge!” She wrinkled her nose up. “Also smelly.”

“That they are,” Spike agreed. “Too smelly?”

Buffy laughed up at him then, eyes shining. “I’ve smelled worse,” she murmured, and then her lips were on his, like a miracle.

They ended up half-sitting, half-lying along the flat top of the huge boulder, lazily kissing. Buffy insisted on being on her back so she could see the stars – though she also then insisted he give her his duster, which she rolled up to act as a pillow. It was all dreamlike and surreal – the glory of Buffy, her blonde hair spread like cornsilk over the stone, the wonder of her soft lips, the odd musky smell of the elephants mingling with the grassy scent of the savanna. Spike had trouble believing he was kissing Buffy at all, but kissing her while elephants went about their business mere yards away? Bloody insane.

But eventually, Buffy sighed, combing her fingers into his hair. “I suppose we should go find the kitten, huh?”

Spike shrugged. “Fair certain it’s sitting up in that tree there.” He’d heard the kitten’s racing heartbeat some minutes before – god, he could hear everything here, the world was so quiet! – but hadn’t felt the need to stop kissing because of it.

Buffy laughed and walked to the edge of the rock, collecting the calico kitten without further ado.

“It’s nice,” she said suddenly, looking down at the watering hole. “The elephants don’t live in a cage at all. They’ve got a whole savanna to wander around in, and the carnival is, like, their veranda.”

“Yeah, lucky them,” Spike grinned, stretching lazily on the rock.

“No, it’s really nice,” Buffy said earnestly, looking down at him. “You hear stories, you know, about how terrible animals in captivity get treated sometimes. That’s why we went all the way up the coast to sell the horses.” She looked down, blushing gorgeously. “I did a whole bunch of research on the internet, y’know? Found a place that has a nice farm for the horses to run around on when they’re not onstage. High marks from all the animal rights organizations.” She frowned pensively. “Except that one, but they’re… kinda fringey.”

Spike didn’t give a good goddamn about the horses’ bloody habitat, but it was bleeding adorable how much Buffy cared. And god knew he’d take any excuse to kiss Buffy again. So he beckoned her close enough to haul her down for a good snog, careful not to crush the kitten.

She didn’t resist.

Eventually, though, Buffy needed to come up for air, and she gave him a tight, hard hug and rolled to her feet. She looked up at the stars, then at him.

“I guess we should head back, then,” she sighed. “Check in with the guys.” She looked around, then started picking her way down from the boulder.

Spike shrugged in acknowledgment and started to follow, slinging on his duster, only to be taken by surprise when she turned and kissed him again, urgently, knocking him off-balance for a moment.

“Sorry,” she said when they were done. “The stars, y’know?”

“Yeah,” he said shakily. “Stars.”

He followed her down the rock and out of the tent and over the fence, watching Buffy as she tucked the calico kitten securely into his basket.

They headed off to the entrance.

[GO TO CHAPTER 55](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20980844)


	5. Chapter 5

Unfortunately, the black kitten seemed to have abandoned the Ferris wheel, and after several minutes of fruitless searching, Buffy and Spike found themselves standing in the middle of the games concourse.

Spike looked around, stuffing his hands in his duster pockets. “Could win you a thingamabob. Traditional, isn’t it?”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “I thought you were trying to impress me. I’m not exactly the type to ooh and aah over knocking down bottles or throwing ping-ping balls into goldfish bowls.”

Spike lifted his eyebrows. “And just what _do_ you ooh and aah over, pet?”

She immediately thought of a whole bunch of things Spike could do to make her ooh and aah, and her face turned a little red. “All I’m saying is, if I want a cheap purple teddy bear, I can win my own.”

“That you could,” Spike agreed, then grinned wickedly. “Hell, if you’re feeling all girl-power, _you_ could win _me_ a thingamabob.”

Buffy laughed. “Maybe I will.”

“ _You!_ ”

Buffy spun around at the shout, which had come from a wiry little man in a striped jacket – apparently the uniform for evil carnival barkers. He was glaring at her poisonously, like she’d kicked his puppy or something.

Spike squinted past her. “Doc?”

The little man ignored Spike. “You’re the Slayer. It’s your fault…” Suddenly his face crumpled into tears. He looked so sad and pathetic and old that Buffy felt an instinctive need to comfort him, until he glared up at her through his tears again, and his eyes were gleaming black. “You’re responsible for the ending of the Great Glorificus.”

“Oh, um, Glory?” Buffy glanced at Spike briefly. “Yeah. Sorry about that.” She tried very hard to make her voice sound actually sorry, but she was pretty sure she didn’t succeed. Kinda hard to regret the death of an evil bitch hellgod who’d been brain-sucking people left and right and specifically targeting her sister.

But Doc was back to mournful tears. “I was all set up with a job in her infernal court,” he said. “But now business is so bad I had to get a part-time job just to afford rent. It was this or being a greeter at Walmart.” He shuddered.

“Yeah.” Buffy looked at Spike, who was engrossed in something just past Doc’s shoulder; Buffy craned her neck and saw a display of small plushies on carabiner clips, weird little monsters or creatures, dozens of different ones just hanging from a display.

He caught her glance and jerked his chin at the display. “Win me one o’ those, love?” His voice was both cajoling and teasing.

Buffy looked up at the sign over the tearful old man’s head. TEST YOUR STRENGTH! was written in huge red letters, as if exploding. Next to it, a thermometer-like pole rose ten feet in the air, marked along its length with judgments ranging from BABY to SUPERMAN.

“Excuse me,” the old man sniffled. “Didn’t mean to neglect my job.” His voice changed, becoming bright and enthusiastic. “Step right up! Test your strength! Find out if you’re a man or a boy!” He swished his striped cane around dramatically, as if he were the Master of Ceremonies at the creepiest cabaret ever.

Spike waggled his eyebrows at Buffy. “Oh yes, do let’s find out if you’re a man!”

She flexed her hands dramatically. “Man enough to kick _your_ behind,” she grinned, holding out her hand to the creepy barker for the mallet. Spike peeled off a number of tickets from his roll, stepping to one side to watch, eyes glittering avidly.

“Oh,” Doc said in a regretful voice. “You’re the Slayer, so… I’m afraid you need to have a bit of a handicap.” He reached behind the prize display and fiddled with something. Immediately the thermometer shot up, growing and growing until the bell at the top was a good twenty-five feet in the air. “In the interest of fairness, you understand.”

Buffy glared at the little creep, noticing suddenly the rat-like tail coming from beneath his jacket. “Oh yes. Totally fair.” She quickly assessed the game. “How high do I have to get the thingie to win a prize?”

“It’s a puck,” Doc said solicitously. “And it’s not easy. You have to ring the bell. Although if you make it halfway, I am prepared to offer you this very stylish eraser as a consolation prize…”

“Gosh,” Buffy said, batting her eyes. “That does seem hard.” And she swung the mallet over her head and smashed it down with all her strength.

The puck flew upwards like a cannonball, crashing right into the bell; with a resounding peal, the top of the game exploded, splinters of wood falling down like rain while the bell itself, dented and misshapen, landed on the ground at Buffy’s feet, still vibrating.

“Pick out your prize, Spike,” she said loftily.

Doc barely even seemed fazed, reaching behind him and taking one of the little plushies off the rack. “This must be the one you want.” He held out a little yellow mouse thing that looked kind of familiar to Buffy. His grin managed to be both charming and vaguely disturbing at the same time.

Spike ignored the offer, decisively pointing at a lumpy oyster-looking thing with a silly cartoon glare stitched onto the black pearl inside. “That one.”

Doc blinked. “Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer this one? It’s our most popular.”

Spike glared at him. “Yeah. I bet it is. Also most likely to be cursed.” He reached out and took the one he’d requested. “This little bugger’ll do me fine.”

Doc’s eyes narrowed dangerously for a moment before he gave a determinedly affable grin. “Well, perhaps your girlfriend would like to play again? Win you the whole set?” He gestured at the game, which was suddenly pristine and whole again.

“I’m thinking not,” Buffy grinned, taking Spike by the elbow. “My date and I have a prior engagement with something fattening and bad for me. In a non-cursey kind of way.”

Spike gave the little old man a jaunty salute as they left.

“So,” Buffy said as they walked away, Spike clipping the little stuffie onto his basket. “A clam.”

“Cloyster,” Spike corrected automatically, then rolled his eyes. “Little fellow’s a badass. Shoots spikes and all.” He gave the little toy a spin. “Got a Spike Cannon even.”

Buffy nodded as if she had a clue what he was talking about, but then Spike took her by the hand and pulled her into an alcove behind the goldfish-bowl game, setting her up against the wooden wall.

“Thank you for winning me a prezzie,” he purred, eyes heavy-lidded. He was quivering with energy.

Buffy grinned up at him. “Well, I hear it’s the traditional thing to do on a carnival date.”

He set his hands flat against the wall on either side of her waist. “Love watching you break things,” he muttered. “It’s bloody hot.”

She looked at him askance. “Breaking things is sexy?”

“Damn sexy,” he confirmed. “All that danger… power…” He groaned and kissed her, hard, and she snaked her arms up around his neck and met his passion with her own. How many times had they kissed so far tonight? She vaguely tried to count in her head, but then gave it up, because in the end there was only one possible answer: not enough.

It wasn’t enough.

*

Anya cuddled into Xander as they strolled through the romantic lights of the carnival.

“How are you feeling, sweetie?” she asked solicitously.

He grunted vaguely in response, but Anya was fluent in all the Xander sounds, and easily interpreted it as meaning _“Quite well, my beloved darling, as long as you are by my side.”_  

“That’s nice,” she said happily. “You know, I thought Buffy was just going to get us in unnecessary danger, bringing us with to this place, but I’m having a wonderful time. Aren’t you?”

Another grunt _. “Blissful indeed, my adorable sex kitten.”_

Anya hugged him tighter. “Are you well enough to go on another ride? Because the carnival isn’t staying forever, Buffy’s going to slay it.”

Grunt. _“Whatever you wish, my precious love.”_

Not-talking Xander was such a sweet-talker. “Okay, let’s do that one next!” Anya bubbled.

Xander whimpered joyfully as Anya tugged him towards the Tilt-a-Whirl.

*

Andrew ducked behind the Tilt-a-Whirl ticket booth, watching through narrowed eyes as Warren and Jonathan walked past. Normally, he would be keen to share his exciting new adventure with the only friends he had managed to find since Sunnydale High, but Future Andrew had been very clear.

Warren and Jonathan were lame.

But he didn’t need them anyhow. He already had managed to capture dozens of Pokémon – even a couple that’d had red circles – and he was well on his way to Pokémon Mastery.

He didn’t need Warren or Jonathan.

He didn’t need them at all.

He looked at his screen, at the lone Andrew mirrored there.

Well, maybe he’d show them later, if he got tired of being alone.

*

Giles glared impotently at his little notebook. He had intended to take down his observations about the evil pub and its evil deep-fryer, but the oil on his glasses was making it difficult for him to focus and… well, there was no getting around it, he had to deal with the bitter truth that he, Ripper, now wore bifocals, and thus could not write in his own notebook without his glasses, unless he placed the page three inches from his nose, at which point the fountain pens he preferred would not write properly. Pencil would do in a pinch, but smudged far too easily for permanent records.

Was it too much to ask to be allowed to be mature and yet to possess a young body?

Grumbling, he tucked his book away again. He might as well investigate the surroundings further. He had a mind like a steel trap; surely he could remember his observations until he was able to record them.

And perhaps he would be able to find a booth with napkins.

Three booths later, he had given up hope of finding anything with which he could clean his glasses. The funnel cake had proven innocent. The ice cream was innocuous. And the deep-fried Twinkies were… Well. They were deep-fried Twinkies, which was appalling in the extreme, but they seemed to be free of demonic influence, other than the usual Hostess aura.

He had grave doubts about the candy floss, however.

He leaned in close, peering at the machine as it spun at high speed. “And you’re quite certain the ingredients used in this dessert are merely sugar, food coloring, and natural flavorings?” he inquired in a businesslike fashion.

The teen girl operating the machine shrugged. “Basically. Though I think we might use FD&C Red Number Forty. I think that might be evil?”

Giles leaned in a little closer, and at that very moment the machine gave a little extra spurt of energy, spraying filaments of candy floss across his glasses.

“Ah, yes,” he said wryly. “Evil indeed.”

*

Willow laced her fingers into Tara’s as they walked along the games concourse. They had dutifully checked out the area of the Cliffhanger for the calico kitten, but there had been no sign of it, and it seemed silly to spend the whole half hour searching the same tent flaps over and over, when there was a whole carnival to explore. So here she was with her sweetie taking in all the sights, the flashing lights and the cheery music and all the people having fun…

 _Holy Toledo!_ Willow quickly averted her eyes from the couple making out behind the goldfish-bowl game.

Tara glanced behind them, curious. “Wow. Was that Spike?”

Willow shrugged casually. “Sure looked like it. He’s got the hair, and the coat…”

“Kissing Buffy.” Tara’s eyes were gleaming.

Willow waved a hand dismissively. “Nah, I’m sure it was just some punk girl he picked up…” She sighed in resignation. “Yeah, that was Buffy. I recognized the boots.” It had been hard to miss the boots, with her leg all hiked up like that.

Tara squeezed her hand. “You know what this means, right?”

Willow turned a mock-scowl on her girlfriend. “Fine! You have officially won the bet. I owe you a Coke, or a similar prize of equivalent value of your choice.”

Tara beamed brilliantly, swinging their joined hands, and Willow couldn’t help but laugh.

It had been a good month before tonight that Tara had casually mentioned to Willow that she thought there might be something going on between Buffy and Spike – something about how their auras were changing color, or a red thread joining them, or something else that Tara could see and Willow couldn’t – and of course Willow had scoffed at the very idea, because anyone could see that Buffy and Spike were just hanging around together because the rest of the Scoobies were all couple-y and so the two lone wolves were just lone-wolfing together by default. But Tara had insisted, and Willow thought Tara was even more beautiful when she was confident, and so they’d shaken on the bet, Willow sure that she was going to win, because even though everyone knew Spike was infatuated with Buffy, there was no way _Buffy_ would ever go for _Spike_ , not in a million years.

But then… she’d started noticing, too.

Nothing big, of course – Buffy certainly hadn’t been gushing to Willow about Spike the way she had about all her previous boyfriends – but little tiny things. The way Buffy watched Spike when he wasn’t looking, little bemused glances, all the stranger because they were so brief. How Buffy danced a little sexier when Spike was around. The growing preponderance of red in Buffy’s wardrobe. The sentence-finishing when they were discussing patrol – and the fact that they were patrolling together in the first place. Touches – nothing that would qualify as a caress, of course, but little casual contacts that were made non-casual by the way Buffy and Spike studiously tried too hard to be casual, _not looking_ at each other with such determination that it was more telling than if they’d been making moon-eyes.

And once Willow started noticing, she couldn’t very well stop, especially with Tara _also_ noticing, and occasionally giving her a significant look or hand squeeze. One memorable Scooby meeting, Willow had started a couple of sets of tally-marks in her notebook, one for Buffy and one for Spike, making a mark every time there was a touch or a look or a shared joke, and at the end of the night, looking at her tally, she had known for sure.

Eventually, she was going to owe Tara a Coke.

And given what she’d seen just now, the hiked-up leg and the wandering hands and the way Buffy and Spike had been kissing, like they were literally incapable of stopping… _eventually_ had definitely come to call.

But all of this was, if she were perfectly honest, less important than Tara’s warm hand in hers, and the way Tara was looking around at the midway games, as if she’d never seen them before.

Wait.

“Tara, is this your first time at a carnival?”

She flushed in response. “Well, no, not really, but… my father didn’t really approve of the games. He thought they were run by swindlers.”

Willow grinned. “Oh, they _are_ run by swindlers. But you can still have fun.” She gestured at the goldfish bowl game. “For example, did you know I spent hours of my youth perfecting my ping-pong ball throwing technique? I won a goldfish at the county fair every year for five years in a row.”

“So you had five goldfish?”

“Well, no,” Willow said sheepishly. “Just one at a time. They, um, usually didn’t live very long after. That’s where the swindle came in.”

Tara looked up at the prizes. “They have stuffed goldfish here. Those won’t die.”

Willow nodded sagely. “This is true. But those big prizes up there? You only win them if you play the game, like, a hundred times. The actual prize you win for one go through is a lot smaller. That’s the other part of the swindle.”

“Oh.”

Willow took both of Tara’s hands in hers. “But I bet I can still do it.” She smiled, feeling her joy bubble out. “Whaddya say? Want me to win you a crappy little prize?”

Tara grinned slyly. “Do I get to kiss you behind the booth after?”

“Only if you want to,” Willow reassured her, then frowned. “And if Spike and Buffy are gone, because otherwise that would be kinda awkward.”

Willow handed the teen working the game some tickets – she thought she remembered him from English class, but she had to be mistaken, because she was sure Jared had been killed at Graduation – and accepted her five ping-pong balls.

“Now, watch the master.”

The first two balls lobbed easily into bowls. The third she put a little too much power into and it ricocheted off the rim. The fourth she overcompensated; it fell just barely short of the table of bowls.

“Three in to win,” not-Jared said in a bored tone of voice.

Willow narrowed her eyes, aiming. She knew she could call on the magicks, a little hint of breeze to get the ball just where she wanted, but… she and Tara had been working on this. Not just how to use the magic, but when to use the magic, and while Willow sometimes disagreed with Tara, this she knew for certain: Tara wouldn’t be happy with magical cheating.

And Willow liked Tara happy.

She aimed and tossed the last ball, and it plopped right into the center bowl, and probably-not-Jared pulled out the inevitable tray of first-round prizes from its hiding place under the counter, absently suggesting that they use more tickets and try for a bigger prize.

Tara pondered the selection carefully before choosing a little gummy-plastic goldfish keychain, but the way she looked up at Willow after made her feel like the Queen of the Midway, and even though Buffy and Spike were still at it when they went past their alcove – Willow murmured a little “you go, girl!” as they passed – they were able to find another private little corner for a smidgen of smoocharama.

It was magic.

*

“Was that Willow I just heard?” Buffy said into Spike’s lips, looking around. They were still all alone, though, and Spike just hiked her leg a little higher, his hand nestling comfortably into the little dent where her thigh met her butt, fingers just shy of the edge of her panties, while he planted sweet little kisses down her throat.

“Must be your imagination,” Spike murmured absently, bringing a hint of teeth into play.

But the moment was broken for Buffy, and she extricated herself from Spike’s grip, tugging her clothing back into place. “I thought we were going to start this date with a snack,” she muttered, a little petulant because… well, it wasn’t really any of Willow’s business, but that didn’t mean she wanted her _watching_ them.

Spike sighed, but stood up straight, tugging his duster back into place. “All right then.”

He seemed a little pouty, and, well, Buffy felt a little pouty, so she tucked her hand into his as they strolled towards the various food carts, winding her fingers and her arm with his and rubbing her cheek against his shoulder.

It was nice.

“So, what’s your pleasure?” Spike said, just a hint of innuendo in his voice.

Buffy took a deep breath, resisting the suggestion for the moment, and chose…

 

What treat does Buffy want?

Deep-Fried Twinkie: [GO TO CHAPTER 130](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982749)

Cream Puff: [GO TO CHAPTER 10](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20978924)

Ice Cream: [GO TO CHAPTER 20](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20979506)

Deep-Fried Butter: [GO TO CHAPTER 60](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20980946)


	6. Chapter 6

Buffy smashed Glory in the face with the troll hammer, glad she’d thought to stop for the thing before coming to the hospital. They were kind of destroying the room they were in – but even that was cathartic, because it was almost the same as the room where Buffy’s mom had calmly told her about the _shadow_ , the shadow that had turned out to be a tumor, and so when Glory crashed into the lightboxes, knocking some other poor mom’s CAT scan images loose, it felt… good. Like she was getting payback for her mom having to go through all of that.

Glory staggered to her feet, blood running from her nose. “You think you can beat me with some crappy toy?” She took a step closer. “I’m gonna—“ And then her hands went to her head, clutching. “No!” she cried. “Not now, you stupid—“

Ben was lying on the floor, battered and bruised, and Buffy had no idea how he’d gotten there, but she felt all sore and the troll hammer was in her hands, so whatever had been beating him up, she must have been fighting it, it must have just gotten away, and so she ran over and fell to her knees beside Ben, lightly slapping his face to wake him up.

“Buffy, are you completely sack of hammers?” Spike shouted from behind her.

“What? Ben’s hurt, and—“

“Ben’s Glory!”

That… didn’t make any sense at all in her brain. “Ben’s glorious?” She looked down at the man in question. “I mean, he’s okay, certainly not bad-looking, but I wouldn’t go so far as to say—“

“Glory just turned into Ben, right here, right in front of your eyes.”

Buffy blinked.

Spike looked around the room. “Is everyone here very stoned?”

“Spike, if you think Ben has some connection to Glory, we can just wake him up and—“

Spike started to laugh then, ruefully, and then he came over and fell to his knees, right by Buffy’s side.

“Buffy?”

That was good, that was a word that made sense. “Yes? You got a problem?”

“I’m about to,” he said gruffly, then reached out and snapped Ben’s neck.

He immediately arched back in agony, writhing on the ground, swearing and shouting and making odd pained noises, and Buffy stared at the dead man – except it wasn’t just a dead man, it was Glory, Ben was Glory and… Wow, how had she managed to forget that? And then she looked at Spike, and… god, Spike was still clutching his head and howling, the chip must be punishing him for what he’d done, but it… it had needed to be done. Glory wasn’t going to rest until she’d killed Dawn, and she’d known it, and Spike had known it, and he’d….

She slid over to where Spike was still writhing, pulling his head into her lap, stroking the tears from his cheeks as the agony went on and on, until suddenly he went still.

“Is he dead?” Dawn asked in a small voice, and Buffy suddenly realized that everyone was watching them.

“No,” she said softly. “Or, yes, he’s dead, but no deader than he was. He’s not dust. I think the pain just got to be too much for him. He’s unconscious.” She looked around the room – the destruction, the dead intern… “We should go.”

She had to carry the hammer, so Xander ended up carrying Spike – complaining all the way – but Buffy watched him all the way back home, where Dawn insisted he be settled on the couch.

Buffy didn’t argue.

But she didn’t know what to do.

*

Buffy stopped just outside Spike’s crypt, taking a deep breath. She had to do it, she had to just… walk in there and tell him that there was no way, no possible way it could ever, ever, _ever_ happen, that she would never have feelings for him and he needed to just stay away from her and….

Why was she having trouble taking those last few steps?

The door was cracked open, though, and now that she was right outside, she could hear voices. Not everything they were saying, but bits and pieces.

“…You broke my sweet boo-boo’s heart!” God, was that _Harmony?_ It sure sounded like it – Buffy couldn’t understand whatever she said next, but she recognized that taunting tone of voice, and then she heard Spike’s voice, clear as a bell.

“Harm, it’s been fun, but I think it’s time you toddled off.”

There was something else, all teary, but then Buffy heard running feet, and she stepped off to the side just as Harmony came barreling out the door, weeping, running off into the night. She stepped closer, silently.

“Come with me,” said a haunting voice that Buffy recognized with a shiver as Drusilla. “You need to feed.” Oh god, that must be who was responsible for the train murders, she had to…. She forced herself to stand still and listen.

“I can’t, love,” Spike said, sounding sad. “It’s not just the pain, it’s…. I’ve changed.”

“So you have, dear boy. But I can change you back. We can play our little games…”

“No, Dru.” His voice was stronger now. “I can’t go with you. I… I won’t.”

There was a high whine, like a puppy whimpering.

“She trusts me,” Spike said. “Not… not with everything, but she trusts me to fight, and to protect her mum and her kid sis, and I… I’m staying.”

The whine intensified into a whimper. “My poor boy. What has she done to you? You’re all made of lies.”

“She’s done nothing,” Spike said harshly. “Stay away from her.”

“Won’t run into the sun,” Drusilla said, sounding pouty. “That’s for foolish boys and paper dolls.”

Spike sighed harshly. “Leave,” he said. “Before she finds out you’re here. Can’t go with you, but… if you stay, you’ll end up dust. By her hand or mine.”

“Poor Spike.” There was a rustling, fabric or leaves. “Even I can’t save you now.”

Buffy waited and waited for Drusilla to come out the door – stake ready – but she didn’t come, and then she heard the sound of stone on stone from inside and realized there must be some other entrance, which was both a relief and a disappointment, and then she heard the sound of the television, clinking glass, and then Spike’s voice, muttering.

“Bloody women.”

She stood there for a moment more, thinking, then ran off.

The convenience store just outside the cemetery had a pay phone; she dug out some change and dialed.

“Mom? Can you get Willow?”

After a bit, Willow picked up. “Buffy, I’m almost done with the…”

“Cancel it.”

“…What?”

“Just… don’t do the spell.”

“But Spike…”

“Trust me, it’s… He’s not going to be a problem.”

And Buffy hung up the phone, hoping that she hadn’t just made a terrible mistake.

*

Buffy sneaked another glance out at the armed fighters surrounding their rickety gas station haven. God, these guys just never gave up, did they? She cast her weary glance around the room. Willow and Tara were chanting together, keeping the barrier up. Xander, Anya, and Dawn were conversing in hushed whispers against one of the interior walls. And Spike…. She frowned. Spike was standing next to the counter where they’d lain Giles, blocking her view.

She stalked over. “What are you doing?”

“Just putting a little more pressure on.” He glanced up at her, eyes hooded. “Not exactly used to trying to keep it in a person, but at least I know how the bloody stuff works. Blood, that is.”

Buffy slipped her hand into Giles’s, nudging Spike aside. “Any change?”

Spike grimaced down at the wadded-up curtain he was pressing into Giles’s stomach. “None, and you should be bloody grateful for that fact, Slayer. You and I both know that what the watcher needs is a hospital. Longer we’re trapped in here, thinner his chances get.”

“Yeah, well, the guys with the pointy swords have other ideas. They only agreed to allow medical help in, not to let us out.” She squeezed Giles’s hand, wishing he would at least squeeze back instead of just… lying there trembling.

Spike snorted in exasperation. “Could make a break for —”

Buffy interrupted, anxiety making her voice sharp. “And what, tuck Giles into a backpack until we can put him back together? We can’t run with him like this.” She gulped back a sob. There wasn’t time for tears now.

Spike looked at her silently for a long moment, long enough that it made her uncomfortable, and she focused on his bandaged hands. “I can… I can do that,” she said eventually. “You go… I dunno. Glower intimidatingly at our hostage or something.”

“All right,” he muttered, shrugging. “I’ll just bugger off then.”

“It’s not…” Buffy began, then sighed. “I just want some… some time alone with him.” She tucked her hands in under Spike’s, taking over the pressure. His fingers brushed the backs of her hands as he withdrew, hands going in his duster pockets. “…Spike?”

“Yeah?” He had fumbled a pack of cigarettes out and was glaring at it.

“Thanks,” she whispered.

He acknowledged it with a nod and a flare of his eyelids before striding off into the back.

Buffy sighed, watching him go. She still wasn’t sure she’d done the right thing, letting Spike into her circle, but so far it hadn’t led to terrible disaster, which was something. She just… didn’t know what to do. One minute he’d be fighting by her side, totally useful and dependable, and the next he’d be… well, ordering the creeptastic robot was the only thing she could really think of, but it was really, really creepy. Then again, he’d also stood up to the torture the Knights of Byzantium had inflicted on him without revealing Dawn’s identity, and then he’d come through for their strategic retreat, and…. Well. She didn’t know what to do.

And she didn’t have time for it now.

*

Spike nipped a Marlboro out of the pack and let it dangle from his lips while he fumbled his Zippo out. Grabbing that bloody sword had seemed like a brilliant idea at the time, when it had been heading straight for Buffy’s head, and then he sure as bloody hell hadn’t been about to let go once he’d already dived off that cliff of clever decisions, but that final slash had ripped through tendons, and now his (figuratively _and_ literally) bloody fingers weren’t working properly.

And, well, he hadn’t done it for the praise – hadn’t had time to think about it at all – but it would’ve been nice to get a bit more than the terse _they’ll heal_ Buffy had tossed out before getting back to business. Though he had to admire her focus. Whatever her faults, Buffy bloody well knew how to win.

He was struggling to operate the lighter when Xander came up and took it right out of his hand.

Spike half expected the boy to set him on fire then and there, but instead he held it out expectantly, so with a muttered “Thanks,” Spike let Xander light him up, taking a deep breath of nicotine. Didn’t help the pain, of course, but it did make him feel a bit more himself.

“You know, those things’ll kill you,” Xander said, tucking the lighter in his own pocket. Spike glared at him, and he had either the grace or the self-preservation instinct to smile wryly. “Oh. Right.”

They stood side by side for a while, leaning up against the wall.

Finally, Xander looked over again. “I mention today how much I don’t like you?” His voice was oddly companionable – not friendly, but not antagonistic either.

“You mighta let it slip in… once or twice.”

Xander smiled faintly, then nodded towards Spike’s bandaged hands.

“How’re your feelers?”

Spike could feel a rant bubbling up inside him – _god_ , he hated being boxed in! – but he made himself shrug. “Nothing compared to what the watcher’s going through.”

Xander was silent for a long moment, then held out his hand. “Gimme.”

Spike stared at it. “And just what am I giving you? Already snaffled my lighter – don’t think I didn’t notice.”

“The cigarette. I’m over eighteen, I’m legal to smoke.” Eyebrows raised, Spike held out the half-smoked Marlboro; Xander took it between two fingers and regarded it for a moment before taking a deep drag.

Spike snagged the cigarette back before Xander could drop it in the ensuing coughing fit. “You know, those things’ll kill you,” he grinned nastily before inhaling. Xander nodded between coughs, eyes streaming and face red.

“All you need do is give up the Key, you know,” the bloke chained to the post said.

“Not gonna happen, mate,” Spike replied firmly. “’Sides, what do you lot want with the Key? What with Glory being dead and all.”

The knight stared at them for a long moment. “The Beast is not dead,” he said at last. “Our seers would have—“

“Slayer’s been telling you for weeks,” Spike interrupted. “Did your bloody seers bother to follow up on that?”

Buffy’s voice came from the doorway. “Seriously, don’t you guys talk to each other? I told Domingo, and I told… what’s-his-face? Mario? The one who kidnapped Tara.”

“Marisco.”

“And I told _you_ at least three times. It took Giles, like, five minutes to cast a spell that confirmed she was dead. Are your so-called seers actually doing _anything_?”

The hostage bowed his head. “Release me, and I shall… consult with them.”

Spike lifted an eyebrow at Buffy, and she gave a sharp nod; he pushed off the wall and went to untie the knight, prepared in case he chose to attack. He couldn’t bloody well fight the bloke, but he could at least get in the way, take on a bit of a migraine for the team.

But the knight walked peaceably to the door – Willow and Tara managed to open a doorway in their magickal shield for him to depart – and shortly thereafter, Buffy heard a loud call of horns outside, followed by a bellowed message.

Buffy frowned. “They want to party? That’s a really weird thing to do in the middle of a siege.”

“Parley,” Spike sighed. “They want to talk.”

With a roll of her eyes, Buffy took hold of his sleeve. “Ugh. If they want to talk so much, why use French? I couldn’t even speak French when I was studying it, much less now.” She tugged him towards the door. “Let’s get this over with.”

*

Buffy glared at Gregor, who was flanked by the two bearded weirdos in robes – why did people getting their ritual on wear robes all the time, anyhow? Was it just for the ambiance, or did they actually need the airflow for good spell conduction? She would have to ask Willow later.

One of the Gandalf-wannabes bowed his head, expression faintly embarrassed. “We have had a vision. The Beast is dead.”

Buffy raised her eyebrows. “Oh, you had a _vision_ , did you? Tell me, did that vision come before or after the fifty times I told you that very thing?”

Gregor managed a grudging nod. “The Knights of Byzantium apologize for the inconvenience.” With another bow, they turned and walked away.

Buffy stared after them. “That was anticlimactic.” She looked at Spike doubtfully. “You think I could hit them up for a ride back to town?”

But then there was a commotion on the outskirts of the camp, and Buffy looked over to see… a parade? No, a procession of those little scabby guys of Glory’s, dozens of them, bearing black and red banners embroidered with images of Glory in a variety of poses – Buffy had to admit, the bubble bath one was lovely – and that was all she had time to notice before the Knights of Byzantium were rushing into battle.

“We joining in?” Spike asked eagerly.

Buffy folded her arms and regarded the melee. “No, I don’t think we’ve got a stake in this one.” She nudged him. “See what I did there?”

He rolled his eyes. “Bloody hilarious, you are.”

“However,” Buffy continued, “I do see a whole bunch of horses, just hanging out over there. And I think the Knights of Byzantium owe us a little… restitution, don’t you?”

Spike grinned back. “Seems only fair.”

*

It took a while to get everyone mounted – Willow, despite her insistence earlier that the horsies not be hurt, was terrified and needed some convincing just to approach them, and Buffy herself was a bit at sea, having not been in a saddle since that birthday party with the pony rides when she was eight. But Anya and Spike both copped to having experience, and after the obligatory amount of fuss and fear and falling off, eventually they all managed to get astride and headed in the direction of town. Buffy had wanted to carry Giles herself, but she didn’t think it was a good idea when she was having so much trouble just convincing her horse to go straight, and so she had carefully lifted Giles up to Spike; they were riding now at the front of their little herd. Buffy watched them constantly, worried at every twitch Giles made, and wondering.

When they were about halfway back to Sunnydale, Buffy managed to convince her horse to speed up a little, to catch up to Spike. “How do you know how to ride a horse?”

Spike glared at Buffy, shifting Giles cautiously in his arms. “I’ll have you know I have an excellent seat.”

Buffy glanced at Spike’s butt, resting in the weird medieval-y saddle, and even annoyed as she was that he hadn’t actually answered her question, she couldn’t help but think that he was _so_ right.

 

[GO TO CHAPTER 108](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982200)


	7. Chapter 7

Buffy accepted the Belgian Waffle from the cashier, trying not to panic at just how… _huge_ it was.

 _It has fruit,_ she reassured herself. _That makes it nutritious, right? Never mind the carbs and the syrup and the big old mound of whipped cream…_

Spike eyed the waffle with interest. “How are you supposed to eat that?”

Buffy proffered a tiny plastic fork.

“Right.”

Buffy had just managed to carve off her first bit of waffle – scooping it onto her fork with a single cherry and a touch of whipped cream, when Spike’s head jerked up, like a panther on the prowl.

“There it is!”

Buffy followed the direction of his gaze just in time to see the Siamese kitten vanishing into a huge tunnel opening, festooned with roses and orchids and crowned with a sparkly red sign.

She frowned. “How the heck does a traveling carnival manage a Tunnel of Love? I don’t think Sunnydale even pumps water this far out.” She popped the bit of waffle into her mouth _. Mmmmm, cherry._

“I think it’s fair to say this circus isn’t playing by the rules,” Spike grinned. “My kind o’ party.”

Buffy craned her neck, looking closely at the fake rock wall surrounding the tunnel entrance. “I think there’s a door there – they must have a service walkway or something. Shall we?”

Spike stepped in front of her, that grin still on his face. “Breaking and entering, Slayer?” He shook his head mournfully. “And here I thought you were on the side of justice.”

Buffy knew that Spike knew her calling required a certain… flexibility… when it came to property damage and trespassing, and also that he himself had the flimsiest of relationships with respecting-property-rights, but he obviously had a point he was meandering towards, so she folded her arms and looked at him expectantly.

“Kitten’s gone into the Tunnel of Love. Iconic place. Only proper way to fetch it out is….” He blinked innocently at her. “Fancy a ride?”

She looked at him in disbelief, but when he slung his arm around her and started escorting her in the direction of the ride, she stopped in her tracks. “You’re serious.”

“Why not?” He sighed. “Look, Slayer, I’ve been around a long time. Seen a lot of bloody magic rot. My experience is, sometimes playing along with the magical narrative yields better results than smashing down doors.”

She laughed. “Liar. You love to smash down doors.”

“Got me there.” He looked down at her. “Maybe I just want to ride the Tunnel of Love with you.”

Her mouth went dry at the look in his eyes, the quiet intensity in his voice. “Then ask me.”

He rolled his eyes. “Did ask you. Said ‘fancy a ride?’ and then you got up on your high horse…”

Buffy interrupted. “Ask me again.”

He gave a long-suffering sigh, then stepped in front of her. “Buffy, will you ride the bloody Tunnel of Love with me.”

“Okay.”

Spike gave an injured sniff, looking away. “Right then, knew you’d be a hard sell, expect me to go down on one bloody knee….” He trailed off, eyes snapping back to her. “Okay?”

Buffy nodded. “Need to sit down to finish this monstrosity of a dessert, we may as well multi-task.”

“Right.” Spike’s face settled into clear disappointment – no wonder he lost his shirt at poker. Buffy sighed and took his hand, heading towards the end of the Tunnel of Love line again, trying not to picture Spike with his shirt off.

The line was practically nonexistent, admissions manned by a short, balding man in a red-and-white striped jacket and a flat straw boater hat. He looked weirdly familiar to Buffy, and when they reached the front of the line, she gasped.

“Principal Snyder?”

Snyder’s eyes flickered between her and Spike. “Miss Summers. Should have known a delinquent like you would show up at a ride like this with a no-good punk boyfriend.”

“He’s not my…” She felt her face turning red, and changed the subject. “Didn’t the Mayor eat you?” She glanced at Spike, who was frowning down at their joined hands. “I _knew_ this carnival was evil!”

Snyder gave her a poisonous glare, then held out his hand. “Tickets, please.”

Buffy blinked. “We don’t have any tickets.”

With a malicious grin, Snyder opened a little gate that shunted them out of the line corral. “I’m afraid you can’t get on the ride without tickets. There’s a booth over there. Go purchase some, and then once you’ve done that, go back to the _end_ of the line and wait your turn.” He swept her with a scornful glance. “Unless your boyfriend realizes the incredible mistake he’s making, being seen with you.”

“He’s not my…” Buffy stopped short, sighing. “Fine.” She grabbed Spike’s sleeve. “Come on. You’re buying.”

*

Willow knew this was a serious mission – head-chomping on the line and all – but it was hard to stay serious when you were chasing a black kitten through a happy fun (maybe evil) carnival, holding hands with the woman you loved. She couldn’t keep from laughing, and when she looked over at Tara and saw her eyes shining… well, it wasn’t so long ago that she’d feared she’d lost her sweet lover for good, and every so often she’d think what a miracle it was, that they’d all come through all right after all.

Tara’s laughing face was always a miracle.

They’d had some serious heart-to-hearts after Glory and the Knights of Byzantium had been taken care of, and Willow felt like they’d come out the other side stronger, both in magic and in love. She’d gone to a dark place when she’d lost Tara, dark enough that the memory made her feel kinda sick, but Tara had helped her shine a little light in the corners of her magic, sweep out some of the cobwebs in her soul, and while she could still feel the darkness creeping around in her shadows, she felt… more secure somehow. Like the lightbulb that was Tara wouldn’t ever quite go out again, leaving her alone in the dark.

They stumbled to a gasping halt after a few minutes, giggling.

“Did you see where it went?” Tara gasped, breathless.

“There!” Willow pointed to the Ferris wheel, where the kitten had leapt onto a seat, smugly grooming itself.

Tara squeezed her hand, giving her that sidelong look Willow loved so much, the one full of promise, seductive and shy at the same time. “I think it may be our civic duty to go after it.”

Willow grinned back. “I think you’re right.”

They bought a roll of tickets from a nearby booth and went through the mostly-empty line; by the time they got to the boarding platform, the kitten’s carriage was halfway around.

“We’ll just catch it when we get off,” Willow said to Tara’s questioning shrug. “In the meantime, we can keep an eye on it from here.” She slid onto the seat and patted the space beside her. Tara smiled back, shy and wicked and beautiful, and snuggled in beside her.

The ride attendant settled the safety bar into place, and they were off, the air whooshing in their hair. They went around and around and around, and on the third circuit, the kitten leaped off the ride and took off for parts unknown.

“Well, that went well,” Willow laughed.

Tara shrugged. “Can’t get off now. We’ll just have to endure the torment of riding on the Ferris wheel a little longer.” She nudged Willow with her hip. “And I believe tradition requires that we kiss at the top.”

“Oh, no!” Willow gasped in horror. “Not… not kissing!”

Tara nodded solemnly. “It’s tradition.”

And then neither of them could keep a straight face anymore; they dissolved into giggles, which melted into hugs. Tara burst into a quick chorus of that song from Fiddler on the Roof, singing in a fakey bass voice that set Willow off into more giggles, and then, oh then they _were_ stopped at the top of the Ferris wheel, and then Tara was laughing into Willow’s lips, and then neither of them was laughing anymore, but they were still filled with joy as they kissed and kissed, even after the wheel started moving again.

It felt like flying.

*

Anya lost track of the calico kitten almost immediately, but she really didn’t care. Over a thousand years of existence, she had seen carnivals evolve from spare gatherings of wandering merchants with maybe a lame puppet show, to the glitzy laser-light-show extravaganza that was modern Barnum and Bailey’s, and in all that time, there was one thing she’d never done.

She’d never been to a carnival with a _date_.

“We have to do it all,” she told Xander excitedly. “We have to go on the rides, and you have to hold my hand, and we’ll scream and put our hands in the air, and I’ll pretend to be scared even though I’m really not, just so I can hug you, and we can kiss at the top of the Ferris wheel and sing “You’re The One That I Want” in the Funhouse and you can win me a big stuffed animal and…”

She kept on, listing all the things she wanted to do – over a thousand years she’d built up a good list, though she supposed she would have to go without the bear-baiting at this point – as Xander resignedly paid for a roll of ride tickets, shaking his head.

Then she saw it. The ride she’d been dreaming of.

The Cliffhanger.

“Oooh!” she squealed, wrapping her arms around her honey. “This one first! This one!” She didn’t give him a chance to protest, dragging him over to where a beefy-looking guy was taking tickets.

“No food on the ride,” the attendant said in a bored tone of voice, indicating the last cupcake, still clutched in Xander’s hand. Anya rolled her eyes, unwrapped it, and stuffed it in Xander’s mouth before he could argue.

“ _Now_ can we get on the…” Something about the big guy’s voice tickled her memory, and she squinted up at his face. “Dimitri?”

He started, looking at her more closely. “Anyanka?”

Xander’s eyes bugged out, muffled noises coming from around the cupcake.

Anya smiled at him reassuringly, being quite fluent by now in Xander-Talking-With-His-Mouth-Full. “Don’t worry, sweetie, he’s not an ex-boyfriend of mine. We just went on a couple of dates, back in Leningrad…. No, wait, it was still Saint Petersburg back then.”

“Not for long, it wasn’t,” Dimitri said in a suggestive voice. Mmmm, that Russian accent of his still got her going.

Xander whimpered through the crumbs.

Anya looked Dimitri up and down. “You’re looking good.” How had he managed to keep all that muscle tone for almost a century? It wasn’t fair, especially since she’d only gotten two – admittedly hot – dates out of him before he’d thrown her over for Hallie. Or… had she dumped him for Vladimir? She couldn’t quite remember. There had been so many attractive demons at the Revolution…

He looked down his nose at her, eyes glowing reddish. “You’re looking… human.”

Anya waved her hand in dismissal. “Long story.”

Dimitri cast Xander a narrow glance. “And who is this?”

Anya clutched Xander’s arm happily. “This is my boyfriend, Xander! Xander, meet Dimitri.”

Xander mumbled something through the cupcake. He’d really slowed down at the tail end of the box – the first few he’d snarfed down in a matter of seconds. Ah well. He was still her cuddly eating champion.

Dimitri looked at them for a long moment, then took the tickets Anya was eagerly holding out, unclipping the chain to let them in.

“Enjoy the ride,” he said, his accent making it sound all deep and sinister. Anya got a little shiver. She wouldn’t trade her Xander in for a thousand Dimitris, but _mmmmm_ , that voice.

They took their places against the wall of the round room. They were the first ones in, and Anya waited expectantly for the room to fill up, but the door shut firmly as soon as they were in place, and the room began to spin.

Oh, it was just as exhilarating as she’d imagined! Spinning around and around and around, faster and faster and faster, centrifugal force pressing them into the wall. Anya managed to work her hand over to Xander’s to hold it; he clutched harder than she’d been expecting, so it wasn’t quite as romantic as she had hoped, but then the floor dropped and she laughed and laughed because they were stuck to the wall! They were stuck to the wall and there was nothing under their feet and… wow, they sure were spinning fast. Were they supposed to be going this fast? And wasn’t the ride supposed to be over by now? But whatever, Anya was having too much fun to complain, spinning around with her sweetie on the Best Ride Ever.

Eventually, though, the spinning began to slow, and the floor rose up to meet them as they started to slide down. Dimitri’s voice came over the loudspeaker telling them to remain in position until the ride had come to a full and complete stop.

“Oh, that was wonderful!” Anya gushed as the spinning slowed to a crawl. “Wasn’t it the most amazing thing ever, Xander? …Xander?”

He just clutched her hand harder.

When the ride finally stopped and the door popped open, Xander half-staggered, half-ran to the door, stumbling down the stairs and right over to a trash can, into which he vomited…. Ew. It looked like the whole box of cupcakes. Anya rushed to his side, rubbing his back consolingly.

“Thank you for riding the Cliffhanger,” Dimitri said behind them, voice dripping with satisfaction.

Xander stopped heaving eventually, and Anya fetched a few napkins from a nearby concession stand so he could clean up. “Feeling better?” she asked solicitously. This was one of the best things about being a girlfriend, having someone to pamper.

He nodded queasily.

“Okay then.” Anya clapped him bracingly on the back. “Ferris wheel next!”

She made sure to detour by a stand where they sold drinks and fished out a few dollars from Xander’s pocket to buy him a nice big Coke, to rinse the vomit out of his mouth. No use going on the Ferris wheel if his lips weren’t kissable.

Anya had it all planned out.

*

One overpriced roll of tickets later, Buffy and Spike were back at the front of the line. Snyder accepted their tickets gingerly, as if they were covered in mud, then with a look of supreme disgust on his face gestured to the froufy pink-and-red boat lined up at the dock.

As they seated themselves, he gave them a final poisonous glare. “Remember, PDA is forbidden on this ride.”

Buffy glared up at him. “The whole point of this entire ride is public displays of affection.” Spike gave her a long look, then slung his arm across the back of the seat, glancing nonchalantly away. As if Buffy would be fooled by a fakey-casual act that had been old before she was born. She grabbed his hand and tugged it right down onto her shoulder, daring Snyder to complain.

Snyder’s nostrils flared in futile rage. “Not on my watch,” he muttered, but set their boat loose anyhow. It started to drift along the long, sheltered approach to the tunnel itself. There were flowers and pretty vignettes set up along the route; Buffy supposed it was to set up the mood before they got to the tunnel proper.

Spike took the plate of Belgian Waffle out of her hand. “You’re not eating,” he said solicitously. “Here.” He cut off a bit of waffle, scooping a single cherry and a dollop of whipped cream onto it, just the way Buffy had earlier, and held it out expectantly.

She rolled her eyes. “Spike, I’m not a baby bird.”

“Open wide,” he insisted, and she opened her mouth. He popped the bite in, and studiously put together another morsel.

After a few more bites, he started teasing, holding out the forkful and then pulling it away at the last second. Buffy played along, catching a few, but when he missed her mouth, almost swiping the sticky treat across her chin, she glared.

“Spike, you…” He nipped up a cherry in his fingers and popped it into her open mouth before she could finish, bringing his fingers to his own mouth to lick off the syrup, and the red on his lips seemed to flip a switch inside her, adrenaline pumping up like she was ready to slay, except it wasn’t blood and he wasn’t being evil, not slay-worthy evil at least, and.... In her sudden confusion she missed the next cherry he offered, a bump of their boat sending it sliding across her cheek, leaving behind a stripe of cherry syrup.

She caught his hand and sucked the cherry out of his fingers before he could withdraw; his eyelids fluttered before he regained his equanimity.

“You got me all messy.”

He shrugged. “That I did.” He was watching her like a panther stalking his prey. A really, really pale panther. They were rounding the last curve of the approach to the tunnel.

“Clean it off,” Buffy said, quivering all the way down to her boots, like she was standing at the edge of a cliff, staring down into misty oblivion.

“No napkins.”

She took a deep breath, and jumped. “Then you’ll just have to lick it off,” she whispered.

As the darkness of the tunnel enveloped them, he did just that, his tongue firm and rough against her cheek, and then he nipped up another cherry, catching her chin with the sauce before popping it into her mouth and while she was biting into the tart sweetness he was licking her chin, and then there was another cherry and another, and then Buffy caught his head in her hands, pulling him right to her mouth for a sticky cherry-flavored kiss.

She laughed as they kissed, because god she probably had cherry sauce all over her face, like a toddler in a high chair, except she didn’t care at all, she just needed Spike’s lips, the sexy hungry sounds he was making as she rubbed against him, his clean hand buried in her hair while his sticky syrupy hand traced the edges of her lips, dipping into her mouth between kisses for her to suck on.

_Meow!_

“Don’t,” Buffy said as Spike coiled to grab the kitten. “You’ll just get fur stuck to your hand.” And she ran her tongue around his thumb as an example of why that would be bad.

He mumbled agreement and got back to the kissing, and god, she just couldn’t stop, she just wanted the tunnel to go on forever, and then it occurred to her that maybe it would go on forever, that maybe it had been a bad idea to go into any kind of tunnel at an evil carnival, and for a few seconds she didn’t even care if that was true, because it meant she could keep on kissing as long as she wanted to, but then the sounds of the carnival grew louder again, and she reluctantly pulled back as they came out into the world again.

Spike looked at her, grinning smugly. “You look a right mess, Slayer.”

“Do I?” Buffy’s hands flew to her cheeks; they were indeed very sticky.

“Here.” Spike leaned back and scooped a hand in the water behind their boat. Face serious, he dipped fingers in the little reservoir, washing her face clean, then scrubbing the remains roughly over his own sticky face. They were both clean – if a little damp – when the boat floated in to the dock.

*

Andrew glanced up briefly at the smooching couple as they passed – hadn’t they gone through before? – before returning his attention to the Pokémon on his screen. It looked like a flopping goldfish, pretty unimpressive in itself, but Andrew hadn’t read every Pokémon manga and strategy guide and supplemental resource to tatters for nothing. That little floppy fishy was a Magikarp, the Little Pokémon that Could, and once caught, it would be but a trifle to evolve it into a Gyarados, the mightiest of all water Pokémon, and then, ah then… the world would be his.

It took him a little while to catch the wee beastie – long enough that the smacking sounds coming from the various passing lovebirds were starting to annoy him.

“Get a room, guys,” he muttered as he finally managed to pitch his Poké Ball at just the right angle, eagerly watching as the Magikarp was added to his Pokémon Index.

“And how many Magikarp Candy does it take to evolve _you_?” he crooned, checking the stats.

_Holy crap! Four HUNDRED?_

He did some quick math in his head. Three candy for each capture, plus one for each that he sent to the Professor, plus he had to keep at least one _to_ evolve, that meant… One hundred and one. One hundred and one Magikarp. (Which, now that he said it out in his head like that, sounded like a really awesome title for an epic Disney/Pokémon crossover fanfiction, but he kicked his muse in the head and got back to business.)

He had the one.

One hundred to go.

He resumed the hunt.

*

Giles finished making notations in his pocket journal – to be transcribed into his official journal later – and tucked it away, sighing. He considered himself still young at heart – though his body somehow refused to quite accede to his inner conviction – but he truly did not understand the appeal of cheap, heartburn-inducing foods and nauseating rides and unseemly sideshows. Bloody teenagers.

He swept his disdainful glance across the food stands clustered like vultures near the gate, each with its own revolting specialty. Deep-fried pickles. Corn dogs. And – as if he needed any further evidence of the depths to which American “cuisine” had sunk since its solid British roots – deep-fried butter.

Deep. Fried. Butter.

“How did they ever win the war?” he muttered.

Oddly, though, when he scanned the food trucks one more time from sheer boredom, he saw something unexpected. There, just past the deep-fried, bacon-wrapped weinerschnitzel booth, a rustic wooden sign swayed in a slight breeze, advertising the “Green Goose Inn.”

Curious.

He wended his way through the throng of people until he was standing before the improbable building. It was solid and weathered, with the look of a structure that had stood reliably in one place for centuries, and even knowing it was impossible, that it was undoubtedly an evil pub, he couldn’t help but poke his nose inside.

 _Merely assessing the evil,_ he reassured himself as he walked in. _It’s vitally important that the details of this circus phenomenon be recorded for posterity, and – good lord, fish and chips!_

He could feel his mouth watering at the sight of the basket being placed before another patron. Sunnydale had its charms – or at least he told himself it did – but he hadn’t had decent fish and chips since the last time he’d returned to the mother country, and these looked more than decent.

“Help you, sir?”

The barkeep even had a friendly North London accent, beaming from a cheerful round face, and Giles almost ordered automatically before reminding himself what a terrible idea it likely was.

“No,” he said instead, regret welling up. “I fear your fish and chips are… likely too evil for my palate.”

The barkeep shrugged, swiping at the bar with a clean white cloth. “Nothing wrong with the food, mate. California rules and regulations regarding concessions are ironclad.” He leaned forward confidingly. “And the Amusement Park Food Service Union wields a bloody big stick, if you know what I mean.”

Giles wavered, then sighed. “Would it be at all possible for me to inspect the kitchen first? You’ll understand if the price I’m willing to pay for a mess of fish and chips doesn’t include my soul.”

“Be my guest!” the barkeep said genially, gesturing to the back room.

The kitchen was a reassuring level of clean – easily meeting health inspection standards, yet not so pristine as to seem sterile and unearthly. Giles meandered about, careful not to get in the way of the two cooks, who were efficiently cooking all manner of mouth-watering English fare, pies and pasties and roasted meat. Everything did seem to be on the up-and-up; he took the precaution of muttering an incantation or two for verification, but in the end it seemed to be exactly what it was: the kitchen of a traditional English pub.

Unfortunately, when he leaned in for a closer look at the deep-fat fryer, where a basket of chips was merrily bubbling away, it gave a prodigious spatter, sending a splash of oil across his glasses. Giles removed them, looking at the spots ruefully.

“Sorry ‘bout that, mate,” the barkeep said behind him. “Food’s not evil, but I fear the deep-fat fryer may be a trifle mischievous at times.”

Giles turned with an awkward smile. “No harm done. It’s just a little oil.”

“Shall I fry you up something, then, sir?”

With a sigh, Giles ordered, then seated himself at the bar, rummaging in his pocket for his handkerchief to clean his glasses.

Odd. His handkerchief was gone. He could have sworn he’d brought it.

He checked the other pockets of his jacket, then his trousers, before concluding that he must have forgotten it after all, reaching instead for the napkin dispenser on the bar.

It was empty.

He did a quick circuit of the pub, quickly determining that there was not a single napkin to be found in the place. When he returned to the bar, he leaned over to check, but even the white towel the barkeep had been using just a few minutes before had vanished.

A basket of steaming, fragrant fish and chips was set before him. “Sorry, mate. Union doesn’t have much of a say in facilities maintenance. That tends to be on the evil side.” Giles glared at the apologetic barkeep, who shrugged. “But the food’s good.”

After his first bite of the succulent fried fish, Giles could only agree.

The food was _excellent._

*

As they disembarked under Snyder’s malevolent glare, Spike cracked his knuckles. “So, time for a little B and E?”

Buffy looked at him sidelong. “I dunno. Tunnel of Love. Pretty iconic.”

He looked down at the ground, edging closer. “You want to go again?”

She hooked a finger in his belt loop, giving a little tug. “Don’t you?”

“Fuck, yeah,” he breathed, and that was that.

Snyder made some nasty comment about desperate delinquents, but Buffy didn’t even care, sliding into the boat and tapping her fingers on her legs as they cast off. Spike draped his arm around her possessively and she snuggled in, but as they drifted past the various bowers and statues, she sighed.

“Spike, about the other night…”

Spike shrugged, settling his arm more securely around her. “No need to explain, Slayer.”

“There isn’t?”

“Not making any demands, just because you felt like a bit of cold comfort from the crypt-dweller.”

Buffy glared up at him. “And just what is that supposed to mean?”

Spike looked bemused. “What? Not judging you for wanting a bit of a snog. Know it didn’t mean anything.”

She slid her hand across his stomach, feeling suddenly shy. “But it did.”

Spike’s stomach muscles clenched under her hand. “It did what?”

“Mean something.”

His hand slid down to cover hers, gently. “Huh.”

Buffy rubbed her cheek into his chest, snuggling closer.

After a while, Spike sighed. “What did it mean, love?”

She burrowed in closer. “I’m still working on that part. But… I’ll tell you. As soon as I know, I’ll tell.”

And as they glided into the Tunnel of Love again, Buffy glided into Spike’s lap and lifted her face to his.

The kiss was sweet and tender and oddly tentative, given that they’d just been sucking cherry syrup off each other a few minutes before, but oh it was perfect, Spike’s hand tucked behind her knees curled off to one side, his other hand cradling her head like a fragile flower, as his lips teased at hers. She cradled his cheeks in her hands, every ounce of her focused on their lips as the kiss went on and on, unhurried and thorough and perfect.

_Meow!_

Buffy didn’t let go of Spike, but she lifted her head to meet the kitten’s eyes, glowing faintly in the dim tunnel; as she watched, it scampered along the path of the tunnel and out.

“We missed the kitten again,” she whispered.

“I know,” he muttered back, kissing her one last time, firm and cherry-sweet, before letting her go as they exited the tunnel.

Buffy scanned the cheery fake foliage screening the flowing water. “There it goes!”

They watched as the Siamese kitten frolicked into the center of what looked like a set of animal enclosures, cages and barriers with, bizarrely, tents at the back of each area; it was smugly grooming itself when the foliage screened it from view again.

As their boat approached the dock, Buffy reached up and wove her fingers into Spike’s hand on her shoulder.

“Guess we should go get it, huh?”

Spike sighed gustily. “Suppose so.”

But Buffy couldn’t help but give the line for the Tunnel of Love one last wistful glance before they headed off.

The kitten was still there, cleaning its tail, when they got to the menagerie, but as they approached it perked up its ears and chased off after a moth, gamboling into one of the animal tents.

“Ready to take on the zoo?” Spike said, cracking his knuckles.

 

Which tent did the kitten go into?

Zebra: [GO TO CHAPTER 82](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981600)

Tiger: [GO TO CHAPTER 110](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982281)


	8. Chapter 8

Buffy accepted the Belgian Waffle from the cashier, trying not to panic at just how… _huge_ it was.

 _It has fruit,_ she reassured herself. _That makes it nutritious, right? Never mind the carbs and the syrup and the big old mound of whipped cream…_

Spike eyed the waffle with interest. “How are you supposed to eat that?”

Buffy proffered a tiny plastic fork.

“Right.”

Buffy had just managed to carve off her first bit of waffle – scooping it onto her fork with a smidgen of fruit and a touch of whipped cream, when Spike’s head jerked up, like a panther on the prowl.

“There it is!”

And sure enough, the black kitten was frolicking around the base of a huge, iffy-looking Ferris wheel, just inside the protective fencing.

Buffy frowned. “Think they’ll let us in to grab it?”

“What does it matter if they let us? What’s the phrase? Just do it.”

“Spike, if we get kicked out, that’s going to make it difficult to round up the other two.” Buffy shrugged. “But hey, it’s your head getting chomped on.” She took her bite of waffle, sighing happily.

Spike muttered something under his breath, then rolled his shoulders. “All right. We can pretend we’re getting on the ride, then grab the little bugger.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

The line was practically nonexistent, admissions manned by a short, balding man in a red-and-white striped jacket and a flat straw boater hat. He looked weirdly familiar to Buffy, and when they reached the front of the line, she gasped.

“Principal Snyder?”

Snyder’s eyes twitched. “Miss Summers. Should have known a delinquent like you would end up here on a school night.”

“But you’re… didn’t the Mayor eat you?” She glanced at Spike, who was sucking a mooched dollop of whipped cream off his finger, watching them like they were an episode of _Passions_. “I _knew_ this carnival was evil!”

Snyder gave her a poisonous glare, then held out his hand. “Tickets, please.”

Buffy blinked. “We don’t have any tickets.”

With a malicious grin, Snyder opened a gate that led from the line to… not in the line. “I’m afraid you can’t get on the ride without tickets. There’s a booth over there. Go purchase some, and then go back to the _end_ of the line.” He swept her with a scornful glance. “I’d suggest you go home and do some homework, but I know a lost cause when I see it.”

Buffy considered pointing out that it was summer, and that she was a college student now in any case, but she was pretty sure arguing with Snyder was a waste of time that could be better spent on… the kitten! Buffy looked over the fence at where the black kitten was ferociously grooming itself, just a few yards away. Maybe she could…

Snyder’s hand fell on her arm, and it felt… not right. “I wouldn’t if I were you, missy,” he said in a quiet, satisfied voice. The kind of voice that was a dare. And looking at his faintly glowing eyes, feeling the unnatural strength of his hand…. Well, ghost or zombie or whatever, Buffy was sure she could still kick his ass, but she was the one who’d insisted on not raising a fuss.

And what the hell, it was Spike’s supposedly-legitimately-earned money.

She grabbed Spike’s sleeve. “Come on. You’re buying.”

*

Willow knew this was a serious mission – head-chomping on the line and all – but it was hard to stay serious when you were chasing a Siamese kitten through a happy fun (maybe evil) carnival, holding hands with the woman you loved. She couldn’t keep from laughing, and when she looked over at Tara and saw her eyes shining… well, it wasn’t so long ago that she’d feared she’d lost her sweet lover for good, and every so often she’d think what a miracle it was, that they’d all come through all right after all.

Tara’s laughing face was always a miracle.

They’d had some serious heart-to-hearts after Glory and the Knights of Byzantium had been taken care of, and Willow felt like they’d come out the other side stronger, both in magic and in love. She’d gone to a dark place when she’d lost Tara, dark enough that the memory made her feel kinda sick, but Tara had helped her shine a little light in the corners of her magic, sweep out some of the cobwebs in her soul, and while she could still feel the darkness creeping around in her shadows, she felt… more secure somehow. Like the lightbulb that was Tara wouldn’t ever quite go out again, leaving her alone in the dark.

They stumbled to a gasping halt after a few minutes, giggling.

“Did you see where it went?” Tara gasped, breathless.

“There!” Willow pointed to where the kitten’s tail was just vanishing into a huge black tunnel that had a channel of water running through it. “Oh, no!” she giggled. “It’s the Tunnel of Love!”

Tara squeezed her hand, giving her that sidelong look Willow loved so much, the one full of promise, seductive and shy at the same time. “I think it may be our civic duty to go in after it.”

Willow grinned back. “I think you’re right.”

They bought a roll of tickets from a nearby booth and went through the mostly-empty line, taking seats in a comfy pink boat, all painted up with curlicues and sparklies. Willow snuggled right in to Tara’s side as the boat set off down the channel.

She was all set to light up the tunnel with magic so they could find the kitten, but as they approached the tunnel entrance, Tara turned her face to her, and the magic lighting up her eyes was all Willow could care about, and she kissed Tara’s soft lips as the darkness enveloped them.

The tunnel was quiet and cool, the sounds of the carnival fading away until all Willow could hear was the gentle swish of the flowing water and the delicious sounds Tara made as they kissed, and – oh, that was a meow, they had just passed the kitten – too bad, they would just have to go around again and in the meantime they were obligated by the Rules of the Tunnel of Love to keep kissing, which was totally all right by Willow, because Tara was anything but shy when it came to the smoochies, she was like the Queen of Kissage and Willow could spend forever lost in the taste of her.

They emerged from the tunnel some time later – it was good and long – and reluctantly separated. Tara’s eyes were full of love, and Willow kissed her one last time, on the nose, because it was there.

“We lost the kitten,” Tara said softly.

Willow smiled. “Found something more important.” Like Tara’s lips, which were also conveniently there, right below that kissable nose. “Good thing we bought lots of tickets.”

*

Andrew glanced up briefly at the smooching couple as they passed – hadn’t they gone through before? – before returning his attention to the Pokémon on his screen. It looked like a flopping goldfish, pretty unimpressive in itself, but Andrew hadn’t read every Pokémon manga and strategy guide and supplemental resource to tatters for nothing. That little floppy fishy was a Magikarp, the Little Pokémon that Could, and once caught, it would be but a trifle to evolve it into a Gyarados, the mightiest of all water Pokémon, and then, ah then… the world would be his.

It took him a little while to catch the wee beastie – long enough that the smacking sounds coming from the various passing lovebirds were starting to annoy him.

“Get a room, guys,” he muttered as he finally managed to pitch his Poké Ball at just the right angle, eagerly watching as the Magikarp was added to his Pokémon Index.

“And how many Magikarp Candy does it take to evolve _you_?” he crooned, checking the stats.

_Holy crap! Four HUNDRED?_

He did some quick math in his head. Three candy for each capture, plus one for each that he sent to the Professor, plus he had to keep at least one _to_ evolve, that meant… One hundred and one. One hundred and one Magikarp. (Which, now that he said it out in his head like that, sounded like a really awesome title for an epic Disney/Pokémon crossover fanfiction, but he kicked his muse in the head and got back to business.)

He had the one.

One hundred to go.

He resumed the hunt.

*

Anya lost track of the calico kitten almost immediately, but she really didn’t care. Over a thousand years of existence, she had seen carnivals evolve from spare gatherings of wandering merchants with maybe a lame puppet show, to the glitzy laser-light-show extravaganza that was modern Barnum and Bailey’s, and in all that time, there was one thing she’d never done.

She’d never been to a carnival with a _date_.

“We have to do it all,” she told Xander excitedly. “We have to go on the rides, and you have to hold my hand, and we’ll scream and put our hands in the air, and I’ll pretend to be scared even though I’m really not, just so I can hug you, and we can kiss at the top of the Ferris wheel and sing “You’re The One That I Want” in the Funhouse and you can win me a big stuffed animal and…”

She kept on, listing all the things she wanted to do – over a thousand years she’d built up a good list, though she supposed she would have to go without the bear-baiting at this point – as Xander resignedly paid for a roll of ride tickets, shaking his head.

Then she saw it. The ride she’d been dreaming of.

The Cliffhanger.

“Oooh!” she squealed, wrapping her arms around her honey. “This one first! This one!” She didn’t give him a chance to protest, dragging him over to where a beefy-looking guy was taking tickets.

“No food on the ride,” the attendant said in a bored tone of voice, indicating the last cupcake, still clutched in Xander’s hand. Anya rolled her eyes, unwrapped it, and stuffed it in Xander’s mouth before he could argue.

“ _Now_ can we get on the…” Something about the big guy’s voice tickled her memory, and she squinted up at his face. “Dimitri?”

He started, looking at her more closely. “Anyanka?”

Xander’s eyes bugged out, muffled noises coming from around the cupcake.

Anya smiled at him reassuringly, being quite fluent by now in Xander-Talking-With-His-Mouth-Full. “Don’t worry, sweetie, he’s not an ex-boyfriend of mine. We just went on a couple of dates, back in Leningrad…. No, wait, it was still Saint Petersburg back then.”

“Not for long, it wasn’t,” Dimitri said in a suggestive voice. Mmmm, that Russian accent of his still got her going.

Xander whimpered through the crumbs.

Anya looked Dimitri up and down. “You’re looking good.” How had he managed to keep all that muscle tone for almost a century? It wasn’t fair, especially since she’d only gotten two – admittedly hot – dates out of him before he’d thrown her over for Hallie. Or… had she dumped him for Vladimir? She couldn’t quite remember. There had been so many attractive demons at the Revolution…

He looked down his nose at her, eyes glowing reddish. “You’re looking… human.”

Anya waved her hand in dismissal. “Long story.”

Dimitri cast Xander a narrow glance. “And who is this?”

Anya clutched Xander’s arm happily. “This is my boyfriend, Xander! Xander, meet Dimitri.”

Xander mumbled something through the cupcake. He’d really slowed down at the tail end of the box – the first few he’d snarfed down in a matter of seconds. Ah well. He was still her cuddly eating champion.

Dimitri looked at them for a long moment, then took the tickets Anya was eagerly holding out, unclipping the chain to let them in.

“Enjoy the ride,” he said, his accent making it sound all deep and sinister. Anya got a little shiver. She wouldn’t trade her Xander in for a thousand Dimitris, but _mmmmm_ , that voice.

They took their places against the wall of the round room. They were the first ones in, and Anya waited expectantly for the room to fill up, but the door shut firmly as soon as they were in place, and the room began to spin.

Oh, it was just as exhilarating as she’d imagined! Spinning around and around and around, faster and faster and faster, centrifugal force pressing them into the wall. Anya managed to work her hand over to Xander’s to hold it; he clutched harder than she’d been expecting, so it wasn’t quite as romantic as she had hoped, but then the floor dropped and she laughed and laughed because they were stuck to the wall! They were stuck to the wall and there was nothing under their feet and… wow, they sure were spinning fast. Were they supposed to be going this fast? And wasn’t the ride supposed to be over by now? But whatever, Anya was having too much fun to complain, spinning around with her sweetie on the Best Ride Ever.

Eventually, though, the spinning began to slow, and the floor rose up to meet them as they started to slide down. Dimitri’s voice came over the loudspeaker telling them to remain in position until the ride had come to a full and complete stop.

“Oh, that was wonderful!” Anya gushed as the spinning slowed to a crawl. “Wasn’t it the most amazing thing ever, Xander? …Xander?”

He just clutched her hand harder.

When the ride finally stopped and the door popped open, Xander half-staggered, half-ran to the door, stumbling down the stairs and right over to a trash can, into which he vomited…. Ew. It looked like the whole box of cupcakes. Anya rushed to his side, rubbing his back consolingly.

“Thank you for riding the Cliffhanger,” Dimitri said behind them, voice dripping with satisfaction.

Xander stopped heaving eventually, and Anya fetched a few napkins from a nearby concession stand so he could clean up. “Feeling better?” she asked solicitously. This was one of the best things about being a girlfriend, having someone to pamper.

He nodded queasily.

“Okay then.” Anya clapped him bracingly on the back. “Ferris wheel next!”

She made sure to detour by a stand where they sold drinks and fished out a few dollars from Xander’s pocket to buy him a nice big Coke, to rinse the vomit out of his mouth. No use going on the Ferris wheel if his lips weren’t kissable.

Anya had it all planned out.

*

One overpriced roll of tickets later, Buffy and Spike were back at the front of the line. Snyder accepted their tickets gingerly, as if they were covered in mud, then opened the chain and waved them through to the Ferris wheel.

Buffy made a beeline straight for where she had last seen the kitten, then stopped short.

“Crap, where did it go?”

Spike looked around, then jerked his head at the Ferris wheel. “Over there, Slayer.” Sure enough, the kitten was stretched out along the seat of one of the Ferris wheel carriages, looking smug. As they watched, the wheel moved, another empty carriage sliding into position for boarding.

Snyder’s sneering voice came from behind them. “Passengers who do not board the ride promptly will forfeit their tickets and need to go through the line again.”

“Ugh.” Buffy tugged Spike after her. “Come on. At least we can keep an eye on it, catch it when we get off, right?”

They clambered into the swinging carriage, assisted by a teen that Buffy thought might have been part of her graduating class. He pressed the safety bar down until it locked in place, and then the Ferris wheel jerked into motion.

Buffy settled in next to Spike, cutting off another square of waffle and popping it into her mouth. Spike eyed her curiously.

“Why do you eat it like that?” he asked, as the Ferris wheel jerked into motion.

“Like what?”

“Getting a bit of everything on your fork at once. Is there a law?” Spike’s voice was teasing, but there was genuine curiosity under it.

Buffy shrugged as they made their first circuit. “How would you eat it?” She started to assemble another three-flavor bite.

“How would I eat it?” Spike hiked one arm over the back of the carriage, gripping the safety bar with the other just past Buffy’s legs, eyes intense and wicked and laughing. “See, I find there’s a rhythm to it, yeah? You have to build things up just right. So I’d start out with the sweet cream.” His hand moved a shade on the bar, and suddenly Buffy realized his knuckles were tucked under the bar, snug against her thighs. _Oh god._

He went on, voice low. “You have to start out slow, because it’s so sensitive.”

She laughed, a tinge of hysteria flavoring it. “Whipped cream is sensitive?”

“Delicate, all right? It’s delicate. So I’d lick at that sweet, delicate cream nice and slow, just the tiniest strokes of my tongue until I’d licked it all up.”

Buffy swallowed, quivering. “What would you… eat next?”

He leaned a little closer, brushing his knuckles a little higher, and Buffy couldn’t resist letting her legs slide open, just the tiniest bit, but oh he noticed, of course he noticed, his hand sliding off the bar and down to nestle between her thighs – well below the hem of her skirt, she noticed with relief and frustration.

“Next,” he murmured, “I’d eat the fruit. Fruit’s a little more substantial, you need to get your teeth in on the action – but not too hard of course. Get it in your mouth, suck all the sweet syrup off…God, it’d be delicious.”

“Oh.”

His fingers inched a bare centimeter higher. “And then there’s the waffle. Lots of ways you can… eat a waffle, depending on the mood. Gobble it down fast, eat it nice and slow… In this particular case, I think I’d want to let it build some momentum, yeah? Start off at a nice easy pace, then pick up speed a bit at a time, finish in a blaze of glory.”

Buffy stared at Spike for a long moment, feeling her eyes glazing over before she shook herself back to reality, popping her piece of waffle in her mouth. “Interesting,” she managed to say. “That’s how you’d eat a Belgian waffle?”

Spike shifted a little closer. “That’s how I’d eat _something_ , all right.”

Buffy busied herself putting together another waffle bite. “See, what’s nice about my waffle-eating technique is that it’s like getting the whole thing in my mouth at once.”

Spike shifted on the seat again, watching her avidly.

Buffy held up her forkful of food. “Not that there’s anything wrong with, you know, nibbling around the edges, or giving your… waffle a good lick. It’s just that sometimes… you want it all.” She popped the bite of waffle into her mouth, sucking on the fork as she withdrew it from her mouth.

Spike nodded vaguely, sliding his hand a little higher up her thighs.

She served up another forkful, holding it out for Spike. “Want a bite?” she said huskily.

He accepted the forkful of food, watching her as he sucked on it, and they traded bites back and forth, until the waffle was gone, and Buffy tilted her head up to his for a kiss that tasted of cherries and cream, and – best of all – Spike.

*

Giles finished making notations in his pocket journal – to be transcribed into his official journal later – and tucked it away, sighing. He considered himself still young at heart – though his body somehow refused to quite accede to his inner conviction – but he truly did not understand the appeal of cheap, heartburn-inducing foods and nauseating rides and unseemly sideshows. Bloody teenagers.

He swept his disdainful glance across the food stands clustered like vultures near the gate, each with its own revolting specialty. Deep-fried pickles. Corn dogs. And – as if he needed any further evidence of the depths to which American “cuisine” had sunk since its solid British roots – deep-fried butter.

Deep. Fried. Butter.

“How did they ever win the war?” he muttered.

Oddly, though, when he scanned the food trucks one more time from sheer boredom, he saw something unexpected. There, just past the deep-fried, bacon-wrapped weinerschnitzel booth, a rustic wooden sign swayed in a slight breeze, advertising the “Green Goose Inn.”

Curious.

He wended his way through the throng of people until he was standing before the improbable building. It was solid and weathered, with the look of a structure that had stood reliably in one place for centuries, and even knowing it was impossible, that it was undoubtedly an evil pub, he couldn’t help but poke his nose inside.

 _Merely assessing the evil,_ he reassured himself as he walked in. _It’s vitally important that the details of this circus phenomenon be recorded for posterity, and – good lord, fish and chips!_

He could feel his mouth watering at the sight of the basket being placed before another patron. Sunnydale had its charms – or at least he told himself it did – but he hadn’t had decent fish and chips since the last time he’d returned to the mother country, and these looked more than decent.

“Help you, sir?”

The barkeep even had a friendly North London accent, beaming from a cheerful round face, and Giles almost ordered automatically before reminding himself what a terrible idea it likely was.

“No,” he said instead, regret welling up. “I fear your fish and chips are… likely too evil for my palate.”

The barkeep shrugged, swiping at the bar with a clean white cloth. “Nothing wrong with the food, mate. California rules and regulations regarding concessions are ironclad.” He leaned forward confidingly. “And the Amusement Park Food Service Union wields a bloody big stick, if you know what I mean.”

Giles wavered, then sighed. “Would it be at all possible for me to inspect the kitchen first? You’ll understand if the price I’m willing to pay for a mess of fish and chips doesn’t include my soul.”

“Be my guest!” the barkeep said genially, gesturing to the back room.

The kitchen was a reassuring level of clean – easily meeting health inspection standards, yet not so pristine as to seem sterile and unearthly. Giles meandered about, careful not to get in the way of the two cooks, who were efficiently cooking all manner of mouth-watering English fare, pies and pasties and roasted meat. Everything did seem to be on the up-and-up; he took the precaution of muttering an incantation or two for verification, but in the end it seemed to be exactly what it was: the kitchen of a traditional English pub.

Unfortunately, when he leaned in for a closer look at the deep-fat fryer, where a basket of chips was merrily bubbling away, it gave a prodigious spatter, sending a splash of oil across his glasses. Giles removed them, looking at the spots ruefully.

“Sorry ‘bout that, mate,” the barkeep said behind him. “Food’s not evil, but I fear the deep-fat fryer may be a trifle mischievous at times.”

Giles turned with an awkward smile. “No harm done. It’s just a little oil.”

“Shall I fry you up something, then, sir?”

With a sigh, Giles ordered, then seated himself at the bar, rummaging in his pocket for his handkerchief to clean his glasses.

Odd. His handkerchief was gone. He could have sworn he’d brought it.

He checked the other pockets of his jacket, then his trousers, before concluding that he must have forgotten it after all, reaching instead for the napkin dispenser on the bar.

It was empty.

He did a quick circuit of the pub, quickly determining that there was not a single napkin to be found in the place. When he returned to the bar, he leaned over to check, but even the white towel the barkeep had been using just a few minutes before had vanished.

A basket of steaming, fragrant fish and chips was set before him. “Sorry, mate. Union doesn’t have much of a say in facilities maintenance. That tends to be on the evil side.” Giles glared at the apologetic barkeep, who shrugged. “But the food’s good.”

After his first bite of the succulent fried fish, Giles could only agree.

The food was _excellent._

*

They were jolted out of the kiss when the Ferris wheel stopped to let someone on or off, and Buffy set a hand on Spike’s chest, holding him away, because… there was something she had to do, wasn’t there? God, it was hard to think with his hand where it was, but she wasn’t about to suggest he move his hand anywhere but _higher_ so she muscled through the haze of lust until she found her derailed, exploded train of thought.

“The kiss.”

“Don’t mind if I do, pet,” Spike grinned, leaning in; she held him away.

“No, not this kiss. The other one.” She could feel herself flushing. “On the porch.”

He shrugged, nuzzling her ear. “No need to explain, Slayer.”

“There isn’t?” She tilted her head to the side.

He pressed his lips tenderly to the corded tendon of her throat. “Was just a kiss, love. Know it didn’t mean anything.”

Buffy jerked away. “Wait, are you saying you kissed me and it didn’t mean a thing to you?”

Spike stared at her, befuddled. “Didn’t say it didn’t mean anything to me.”

She could feel her lips sinking into a pout. “So it meant something?”

He set his jaw. “Bloody right, it meant something!”

“So what did it mean?”

He stared at her for a long moment, mouth working, before his eyes narrowed. “What did it mean to _you_?”

Buffy glanced away. “I don’t know.”

She could feel Spike’s eyes on her, but she couldn’t quite face him, and after a bit he sighed and curled in to nuzzle at her throat again.

After a bit, he murmured, “So… it meant something, then?”

Buffy nodded, feeling her breathing accelerating.

“Do I get to know what?” he said, low and somehow shy.

“As soon as I figure it out,” Buffy sighed, and what the hell, she’d had enough of waiting; she reached down to the hand on her thigh, caressing it invitingly, and let her legs fall open, and apparently that was enough of a hint for Spike.

He stroked her slowly through her panties. “And what does _this_ mean, then?”

“It means don’t stop,” Buffy moaned, and then his lips were on hers as he touched her, fingers somehow reverent.

She lost track of how many times the Ferris wheel went around as they kissed, straining against the confines of the safety bar to get as close as possible, but when it rocked to a stop to let someone on or off, Buffy broke away, pressing her forehead to Spike’s chest as she gasped.

She felt his lips on the top of her head, like butterfly wings, and his fingers continued to move against her, stroking her higher and higher until…

“Bloody buggering fuck!”

Buffy startled out of her near-ecstasy, looking around wildly. “What? Are we under attack?”

Spike gestured towards the carriage in front of them. “Buggering kitten’s gone.”

“What?” Buffy was still not thinking too clearly, but she looked at the carriage in front of them, and sure enough, it was empty. Spike sat forward, scanning the area with narrow eyes, finally pointing. “There it goes!”

They both watched helplessly as the kitten strolled into the center of what looked like a set of animal enclosures, cages and barriers with, bizarrely, tents at the back of each area.

Buffy gripped the safety bar in frustration. “Okay. We’ll just get off the ride and go catch it.”

Spike muttered another oath, then turned to her. “All right then. Where were we?”

Buffy took his hand and was about to put it right where she wanted it when their carriage jolted to a stop at the bottom, the smiling teen unlocking their safety bar. Buffy gave Spike a quick apologetic smile as she stepped out of the swaying carriage onto the platform. He followed, muttering under his breath.

Buffy felt like doing a little muttering herself.

They made their way to where they had seen the kitten, arriving just in time to see its tail vanish into one of the animal tents.

“Ready to take on the zoo?” Spike said, cracking his knuckles.

 

Which tent did the kitten go into?

Zebra:[ GO TO CHAPTER 125](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982644)

Tiger: [GO TO CHAPTER 22](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20979560)

 


	9. Chapter 9

Unfortunately, the Siamese kitten seemed to have abandoned the Tunnel of Love, and after several minutes of fruitless searching, Buffy and Spike found themselves standing in the middle of the games concourse.

Spike looked around, stuffing his hands in his duster pockets. “Could win you a thingamabob. Traditional, isn’t it?”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “I thought you were trying to impress me. I’m not exactly the type to ooh and aah over knocking down bottles or throwing ping-ping balls into goldfish bowls.”

Spike lifted his eyebrows. “And just what _do_ you ooh and aah over, pet?”

She immediately thought of a whole bunch of things Spike could do to make her ooh and aah, and her face turned a little red. “All I’m saying is, if I want a cheap purple teddy bear, I can win my own.”

“That you could,” Spike agreed, then grinned wickedly. “Hell, if you’re feeling all girl-power, _you_ could win _me_ a thingamabob.”

Buffy laughed. “Maybe I will.”

“ _You!_ ”

Buffy spun around at the shout, which had come from a wiry little man in a striped jacket – apparently the uniform for evil carnival barkers. He was glaring at her poisonously, like she’d kicked his puppy or something.

Spike squinted past her. “Doc?”

The little man ignored Spike. “You’re the Slayer. It’s your fault…” Suddenly his face crumpled into tears. He looked so sad and pathetic and old that Buffy felt an instinctive need to comfort him, until he glared up at her through his tears again, and his eyes were gleaming black. “You’re responsible for the ending of the Great Glorificus.”

“Oh, um, Glory?” Buffy glanced at Spike briefly. “Yeah. Sorry about that.” She tried very hard to make her voice sound actually sorry, but she was pretty sure she didn’t succeed. Kinda hard to regret the death of an evil bitch hellgod who’d been brain-sucking people left and right and specifically targeting her sister.

But Doc was back to mournful tears. “I was all set up with a job in her infernal court,” he said. “But now business is so bad I had to get a part-time job just to afford rent. It was this or being a greeter at Walmart.” He shuddered.

“Yeah.” Buffy looked at Spike, who was engrossed in something just past Doc’s shoulder; Buffy craned her neck and saw a display of small plushies on carabiner clips, weird little monsters or creatures, dozens of different ones just hanging from a display.

He caught her glance and jerked his chin at the display. “Win me one o’ those, love?” His voice was both cajoling and teasing.

Buffy looked up at the sign over the tearful old man’s head. TEST YOUR STRENGTH! was written in huge red letters, as if exploding. Next to it, a thermometer-like pole rose ten feet in the air, marked along its length with judgments ranging from BABY to SUPERMAN.

“Excuse me,” the old man sniffled. “Didn’t mean to neglect my job.” His voice changed, becoming bright and enthusiastic. “Step right up! Test your strength! Find out if you’re a man or a boy!” He swished his striped cane around dramatically, as if he were the Master of Ceremonies at the creepiest cabaret ever.

Spike waggled his eyebrows at Buffy. “Oh yes, do let’s find out if you’re a man!”

She flexed her hands dramatically. “Man enough to kick _your_ behind,” she grinned, holding out her hand to the creepy barker for the mallet. Spike peeled off a number of tickets from his roll, stepping to one side to watch, eyes glittering avidly.

“Oh,” Doc said in a regretful voice. “You’re the Slayer, so… I’m afraid you need to have a bit of a handicap.” He reached behind the prize display and fiddled with something. Immediately the thermometer shot up, growing and growing until the bell at the top was a good twenty-five feet in the air. “In the interest of fairness, you understand.”

Buffy glared at the little creep, noticing suddenly the rat-like tail coming from beneath his jacket. “Oh yes. Totally fair.” She quickly assessed the game. “How high do I have to get the thingie to win a prize?”

“It’s a puck,” Doc said solicitously. “And it’s not easy. You have to ring the bell. Although if you make it halfway, I am prepared to offer you this very stylish eraser as a consolation prize…”

“Gosh,” Buffy said, batting her eyes. “That does seem hard.” And she swung the mallet over her head and smashed it down with all her strength.

The puck flew upwards like a cannonball, crashing right into the bell; with a resounding peal, the top of the game exploded, splinters of wood falling down like rain while the bell itself, dented and misshapen, landed on the ground at Buffy’s feet, still vibrating.

“Pick out your prize, Spike,” she said loftily.

Doc barely even seemed fazed, reaching behind him and taking one of the little plushies off the rack. “This must be the one you want.” He held out a little yellow mouse thing that looked kind of familiar to Buffy. His grin managed to be both charming and vaguely disturbing at the same time.

Spike ignored the offer, decisively pointing at a lumpy oyster-looking thing with a silly cartoon glare stitched onto the black pearl inside. “That one.”

Doc blinked. “Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer this one? It’s our most popular.”

Spike glared at him. “Yeah. I bet it is. Also most likely to be cursed.” He reached out and took the one he’d requested. “This little bugger’ll do me fine.”

Doc’s eyes narrowed dangerously for a moment before he gave a determinedly affable grin. “Well, perhaps your girlfriend would like to play again? Win you the whole set?” He gestured at the game, which was suddenly pristine and whole again.

“I’m thinking not,” Buffy grinned, taking Spike by the elbow. “My date and I have a prior engagement with something fattening and bad for me. In a non-cursey kind of way.”

Spike gave the little old man a jaunty salute as they left.

“So,” Buffy said as they walked away, Spike clipping the little stuffie onto his basket. “A clam.”

“Cloyster,” Spike corrected automatically, then rolled his eyes. “Little fellow’s a badass. Shoots spikes and all.” He gave the little toy a spin. “Got a Spike Cannon even.”

Buffy nodded as if she had a clue what he was talking about, but then Spike took her by the hand and pulled her into an alcove behind the goldfish-bowl game, setting her up against the wooden wall.

“Thank you for winning me a prezzie,” he purred, eyes heavy-lidded. He was quivering with energy.

Buffy grinned up at him. “Well, I hear it’s the traditional thing to do on a carnival date.”

He set his hands flat against the wall on either side of her waist. “Love watching you break things,” he muttered. “It’s bloody hot.”

She looked at him askance. “Breaking things is sexy?”

“Damn sexy,” he confirmed. “All that danger… power…” He groaned and kissed her, hard, and she snaked her arms up around his neck and met his passion with her own. How many times had they kissed so far tonight? She vaguely tried to count in her head, but then gave it up, because in the end there was only one possible answer: not enough.

It wasn’t enough.

*

Anya cuddled into Xander as they strolled through the romantic lights of the carnival.

“How are you feeling, sweetie?” she asked solicitously.

He grunted vaguely in response, but Anya was fluent in all the Xander sounds, and easily interpreted it as meaning _“Quite well, my beloved darling, as long as you are by my side.”_  

“That’s nice,” she said happily. “You know, I thought Buffy was just going to get us in unnecessary danger, bringing us with to this place, but I’m having a wonderful time. Aren’t you?”

Another grunt _. “Blissful indeed, my adorable sex kitten.”_

Anya hugged him tighter. “Are you well enough to go on another ride? Because the carnival isn’t staying forever, Buffy’s going to slay it.”

Grunt. _“Whatever you wish, my precious love.”_

Not-talking Xander was such a sweet-talker. “Okay, let’s do that one next!” Anya bubbled.

Xander whimpered joyfully as Anya tugged him towards the Tilt-a-Whirl.

*

Andrew ducked behind the Tilt-a-Whirl ticket booth, watching through narrowed eyes as Warren and Jonathan walked past. Normally, he would be keen to share his exciting new adventure with the only friends he had managed to find since Sunnydale High, but Future Andrew had been very clear.

Warren and Jonathan were lame.

But he didn’t need them anyhow. He already had managed to capture dozens of Pokémon – even a couple that’d had red circles – and he was well on his way to Pokémon Mastery.

He didn’t need Warren or Jonathan.

He didn’t need them at all.

He looked at his screen, at the lone Andrew mirrored there.

Well, maybe he’d show them later, if he got tired of being alone.

*

Giles glared impotently at his little notebook. He had intended to take down his observations about the evil pub and its evil deep-fryer, but the oil on his glasses was making it difficult for him to focus and… well, there was no getting around it, he had to deal with the bitter truth that he, Ripper, now wore bifocals, and thus could not write in his own notebook without his glasses, unless he placed the page three inches from his nose, at which point the fountain pens he preferred would not write properly. Pencil would do in a pinch, but smudged far too easily for permanent records.

Was it too much to ask to be allowed to be mature and yet to possess a young body?

Grumbling, he tucked his book away again. He might as well investigate the surroundings further. He had a mind like a steel trap; surely he could remember his observations until he was able to record them.

And perhaps he would be able to find a booth with napkins.

Three booths later, he had given up hope of finding anything with which he could clean his glasses. The funnel cake had proven innocent. The ice cream was innocuous. And the deep-fried Twinkies were… Well. They were deep-fried Twinkies, which was appalling in the extreme, but they seemed to be free of demonic influence, other than the usual Hostess aura.

He had grave doubts about the candy floss, however.

He leaned in close, peering at the machine as it spun at high speed. “And you’re quite certain the ingredients used in this dessert are merely sugar, food coloring, and natural flavorings?” he inquired in a businesslike fashion.

The teen girl operating the machine shrugged. “Basically. Though I think we might use FD&C Red Number Forty. I think that might be evil?”

Giles leaned in a little closer, and at that very moment the machine gave a little extra spurt of energy, spraying filaments of candy floss across his glasses.

“Ah, yes,” he said wryly. “Evil indeed.”

*

Willow laced her fingers into Tara’s as they walked along the games concourse. They had dutifully checked out the area of the Cliffhanger for the calico kitten, but there had been no sign of it, and it seemed silly to spend the whole half hour searching the same tent flaps over and over, when there was a whole carnival to explore. So here she was with her sweetie taking in all the sights, the flashing lights and the cheery music and all the people having fun…

 _Holy Toledo!_ Willow quickly averted her eyes from the couple making out behind the goldfish-bowl game.

Tara glanced behind them, curious. “Wow. Was that Spike?”

Willow shrugged casually. “Sure looked like it. He’s got the hair, and the coat…”

“Kissing Buffy.” Tara’s eyes were gleaming.

Willow waved a hand dismissively. “Nah, I’m sure it was just some punk girl he picked up…” She sighed in resignation. “Yeah, that was Buffy. I recognized the boots.” It had been hard to miss the boots, with her leg all hiked up like that.

Tara squeezed her hand. “You know what this means, right?”

Willow turned a mock-scowl on her girlfriend. “Fine! You have officially won the bet. I owe you a Coke, or a similar prize of equivalent value of your choice.”

Tara beamed brilliantly, swinging their joined hands, and Willow couldn’t help but laugh.

It had been a good month before tonight that Tara had casually mentioned to Willow that she thought there might be something going on between Buffy and Spike – something about how their auras were changing color, or a red thread joining them, or something else that Tara could see and Willow couldn’t – and of course Willow had scoffed at the very idea, because anyone could see that Buffy and Spike were just hanging around together because the rest of the Scoobies were all couple-y and so the two lone wolves were just lone-wolfing together by default. But Tara had insisted, and Willow thought Tara was even more beautiful when she was confident, and so they’d shaken on the bet, Willow sure that she was going to win, because even though everyone knew Spike was infatuated with Buffy, there was no way _Buffy_ would ever go for _Spike_ , not in a million years.

But then… she’d started noticing, too.

Nothing big, of course – Buffy certainly hadn’t been gushing to Willow about Spike the way she had about all her previous boyfriends – but little tiny things. The way Buffy watched Spike when he wasn’t looking, little bemused glances, all the stranger because they were so brief. How Buffy danced a little sexier when Spike was around. The growing preponderance of red in Buffy’s wardrobe. The sentence-finishing when they were discussing patrol – and the fact that they were patrolling together in the first place. Touches – nothing that would qualify as a caress, of course, but little casual contacts that were made non-casual by the way Buffy and Spike studiously tried too hard to be casual, _not looking_ at each other with such determination that it was more telling than if they’d been making moon-eyes.

And once Willow started noticing, she couldn’t very well stop, especially with Tara _also_ noticing, and occasionally giving her a significant look or hand squeeze. One memorable Scooby meeting, Willow had started a couple of sets of tally-marks in her notebook, one for Buffy and one for Spike, making a mark every time there was a touch or a look or a shared joke, and at the end of the night, looking at her tally, she had known for sure.

Eventually, she was going to owe Tara a Coke.

And given what she’d seen just now, the hiked-up leg and the wandering hands and the way Buffy and Spike had been kissing, like they were literally incapable of stopping… _eventually_ had definitely come to call.

But all of this was, if she were perfectly honest, less important than Tara’s warm hand in hers, and the way Tara was looking around at the midway games, as if she’d never seen them before.

Wait.

“Tara, is this your first time at a carnival?”

She flushed in response. “Well, no, not really, but… my father didn’t really approve of the games. He thought they were run by swindlers.”

Willow grinned. “Oh, they _are_ run by swindlers. But you can still have fun.” She gestured at the goldfish bowl game. “For example, did you know I spent hours of my youth perfecting my ping-pong ball throwing technique? I won a goldfish at the county fair every year for five years in a row.”

“So you had five goldfish?”

“Well, no,” Willow said sheepishly. “Just one at a time. They, um, usually didn’t live very long after. That’s where the swindle came in.”

Tara looked up at the prizes. “They have stuffed goldfish here. Those won’t die.”

Willow nodded sagely. “This is true. But those big prizes up there? You only win them if you play the game, like, a hundred times. The actual prize you win for one go through is a lot smaller. That’s the other part of the swindle.”

“Oh.”

Willow took both of Tara’s hands in hers. “But I bet I can still do it.” She smiled, feeling her joy bubble out. “Whaddya say? Want me to win you a crappy little prize?”

Tara grinned slyly. “Do I get to kiss you behind the booth after?”

“Only if you want to,” Willow reassured her, then frowned. “And if Spike and Buffy are gone, because otherwise that would be kinda awkward.”

Willow handed the teen working the game some tickets – she thought she remembered him from English class, but she had to be mistaken, because she was sure Jared had been killed at Graduation – and accepted her five ping-pong balls.

“Now, watch the master.”

The first two balls lobbed easily into bowls. The third she put a little too much power into and it ricocheted off the rim. The fourth she overcompensated; it fell just barely short of the table of bowls.

“Three in to win,” not-Jared said in a bored tone of voice.

Willow narrowed her eyes, aiming. She knew she could call on the magicks, a little hint of breeze to get the ball just where she wanted, but… she and Tara had been working on this. Not just how to use the magic, but when to use the magic, and while Willow sometimes disagreed with Tara, this she knew for certain: Tara wouldn’t be happy with magical cheating.

And Willow liked Tara happy.

She aimed and tossed the last ball, and it plopped right into the center bowl, and probably-not-Jared pulled out the inevitable tray of first-round prizes from its hiding place under the counter, absently suggesting that they use more tickets and try for a bigger prize.

Tara pondered the selection carefully before choosing a little gummy-plastic goldfish keychain, but the way she looked up at Willow after made her feel like the Queen of the Midway, and even though Buffy and Spike were still at it when they went past their alcove – Willow murmured a little “you go, girl!” as they passed – they were able to find another private little corner for a smidgen of smoocharama.

It was magic.

*

“Was that Willow I just heard?” Buffy said into Spike’s lips, looking around. They were still all alone, though, and Spike just hiked her leg a little higher, his hand nestling comfortably into the little dent where her thigh met her butt, fingers just shy of the edge of her panties, while he planted sweet little kisses down her throat.

“Must be your imagination,” Spike murmured absently, bringing a hint of teeth into play.

But the moment was broken for Buffy, and she extricated herself from Spike’s grip, tugging her clothing back into place. “I thought we were going to start this date with a snack,” she muttered, a little petulant because… well, it wasn’t really any of Willow’s business, but that didn’t mean she wanted her _watching_ them.

Spike sighed, but stood up straight, tugging his duster back into place. “All right then.”

He seemed a little pouty, and, well, Buffy felt a little pouty, so she tucked her hand into his as they strolled towards the various food carts, winding her fingers and her arm with his and rubbing her cheek against his shoulder.

It was nice.

“So, what’s your pleasure?” Spike said, just a hint of innuendo in his voice.

Buffy took a deep breath, resisting the suggestion for the moment, and chose…

 

What treat does Buffy want?

Deep-Fried Twinkie: [GO TO CHAPTER 140](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982947)

Ice Cream: [GO TO CHAPTER 86](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981753)

Cream Puff: [GO TO CHAPTER 111](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982332)

Deep-Fried Butter: [GO TO CHAPTER 79](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981540)


	10. Chapter 10

Buffy had just accepted the cream puff from the teenage cashier when Spike tugged at her arm.

“There it goes,” he said, jerking his chin in the direction the black kitten was running.

They followed it to a huge ride that loomed over them like an immense spider.

Buffy frowned up at it. “Isn’t this a bit huge for a traveling carnival?”

But Spike was rubbing his hands in anticipation. “Brilliant! It’s the Sky Whirl! Always wanted to ride this one.”

The ride had three huge arms, each of which supported a dozen carriages, solid at the bottom with a cage window circling the top half. Two arms were up in the air, circling slowly high above the carnival, while the carriages of the third rested on the ground for boarding. Spike took Buffy by the hand and led her towards the attendant, peeling off tickets from his diminishing roll to pay for their ride.

Buffy couldn’t help but roll her eyes as he tugged her towards the boarding area. “Aren’t we supposed to be catching a kitten?”

Spike grinned, breaking into a lope. “That we are, love. And here it is.”

He handed her into one of the cages, and there the black kitten sat, gazing at them in surprise. Spike pulled the carriage door shut behind him, latching it securely. “And now it can’t get away.” The attendant came by their carriage, checking the latch and moving on.

Buffy settled onto the round bench that ringed the carriage, sighing. “And neither can we.” They lifted off the ground then, their wheel starting to rotate slowly as the arm lifted up into the air.

Spike settled next to Buffy, putting his arm around her. The kitten was playing with some bit of fluff on the floor. “Thought I’d missed my chance for this ride,” he said, beaming down at her. “One in Santa Clara closed before Dru and I made it out this way, and other one off in Illinois closed down last year.” He squeezed her shoulder affectionately. “Thought they’d been scrapped, but it seems they just went on the road.”

“Gosh, I’m so happy for you.” Buffy regarded her cream puff with mingled excitement and trepidation. It was huge, puffed high with fluffy cream, and it was hard to even figure out where to start.

Spike huffed out a little sigh of frustration. “Bloody hell, Slayer, don’t you ever go to the cinema? Wonderworld? Bloody Beverly Hills Cop III?”

“Oh yeah, that was a movie.” She smiled at him indulgently. “I’m sure it was better than _Cats_ , and you wanted to see it again and again.”

Spike rolled his eyes right back. “Right then, Slayer. Eat your cream puff.”

“I think I shall,” she said primly. She chose an edge that looked nibbleable and took a tentative bite. The pastry was crisp and flaky and perfect, and she caught up a bit of cream on her finger, and it was even perfecter, and then Spike shifted his arm and she looked up to realize he was watching her, his mouth hanging open slightly.

“What?”

He shrugged. “Just thinking it’s a good thing we’re hundreds of feet in the air. Sight of you eating that cream-filled torture device may not be appropriate for younger audiences.”

Buffy lifted an eyebrow, sticking her tongue out to lick up a bit more cream. “What are we talking, PG-13 here?”

Spike grinned down at her, skimming a hand over her breast. “I’d go with NC-17, myself.” His voice was easy, but there was an uncertain edge to it.

Buffy shivered at the touch of his hand, feeling like she stood on the edge of a precipice – well, actually, they _were_ hundreds of feet in the air, so she guessed that wasn’t too unusual, but the metaphor – no, simile, she always got those two mixed up – the simile still worked. Spike had offered her a choice. She could pull back, give Spike the message that this date was doomed to stay on first base.

Or she could try for a home run.

 _And why the hell shouldn’t I?_ she thought suddenly. She was young and free and old enough to know what she wanted. And what she wanted right now…

Before she had time to think better of it, Buffy stood and plopped down on the bench across from Spike. He looked bereft for the barest moment before his face settled into sardonic lines.

“Date over, then? Had enough?”

Buffy smiled secretively. “Not at all.” She lounged across the seat, draping herself into a sexy pose. “Was just thinking you’d appreciate having a better view.” She kicked a leg up, knowing her skirt was falling in a way that probably exposed her underwear, and not caring. Or, no, she cared. She _wanted_ to give Spike a good view of her polka-dot panties, and from the look on his face, he definitely appreciated it.

She took another bite of the cream puff.

“You have to admit, this ride is nice and private.” She tried to sound casual. Maybe she even succeeded.

Spike lounged across his own arc of bench. “Indeed it is.”

“We could do almost anything in here, and no-one would ever know.” She took another huge bite, watching his eyes as she did.

“That we could, love.”

“Like, for example…” She took a deep breath, setting the cream puff down beside her, and swept her shirt off over her head. “If I wanted to eat my cream puff topless, who would know? Nobody would be able to see.” She lounged back again, picking up her pastry. “Nobody except you.”

Spike nodded, mesmerized.

Buffy took another good bite of her cream puff; a little cream got on her cheek and she licked it off. “I could be completely naked in here, and nobody would know. Except you.”

Spike grinned then, teeth white in the semidarkness. “Then why aren’t you?”

“Because I’m eating my cream puff,” Buffy said loftily, but she was shaking.

Spike’s eyelids drifted low. “I could hold it for you.”

Buffy took one more bite, then solemnly held out the cream puff to Spike. He took it just as solemnly, watching her silently as she shimmied out of her skirt. She took another deep breath before skimming her panties down over her hips, unzipping her boots and slipping them all off at once, until she was completely naked.

She resumed her lounging position on the bench, and held out her hand. “Gimme.”

Spike handed over the cream puff wordlessly. There had to be some sort of award for making Spike speechless, Buffy mused as she took another bite.

Their carriage continued to circle in the air, and Buffy continued to eat her cream puff and Spike continued to watch her, and it was all like a dream, a surreal and naughty dream, except the cool night air on her bare skin and the feel of the vinyl beneath her and the sweet cream on her lips, they were all real, and Buffy was just licking the last bits of cream off her fingertips when Spike started and glanced out the bars of the cage window.

“Bugger. Coming in to land.”

Buffy squeaked and dove for her clothing. “Oh god, is someone coming?” She tugged her shirt on first as their carriage came down to ground level.

Spike gave her an amused glance, then peered out at the loading area. “He’s two cars away.”

“Keep watch!” Buffy hissed, wriggling her skirt on, and Spike shrugged and kept watch.

Buffy couldn’t find her panties at first, so she zipped her boots on, and then the black kitten meowed and she looked down at the floor to see it lying proudly across the polka-dotted underwear. She snatched it away – and the kitten hissed in affront and leaped up and out the bars, and then the attendant was there, smiling as he unlocked their door, so Buffy smiled back and balled up the panties in her hand, hoping she didn’t look as panicked as she felt, and stepped out of the carriage and walked across the cement landing, praying that there wouldn’t be a breeze.

Spike grumbled something about the kitten, and Buffy sighed. “It’s not like you were watching it.”

He grinned over at her, doing something lewd with his tongue that made Buffy twice as aware of her pantyless state. “Had something much more interesting to watch.”

Buffy glanced at him sidelong. “Did you enjoy the show?”

“What can I say?” He slid an arm around her waist. “It was better than _Cats_. I’d be bloody ecstatic to see it again and again.”

Buffy took a deep shivering breath, and tucked her own arm around him. “Maybe you can,” she said casually, then stepped away, running a few steps ahead. “The kitten went in that tent,” she said brightly, as if they had just been talking about the weather.

As if she hadn’t just tucked her panties into his duster pocket.

Spike smiled faintly, sauntering after her, and she turned and walked ahead, listening carefully for the moment he found her present.

Ah, there it was. A little surprised growl. God, Spike was easy.

She gave her skirt a little flip and followed the kitten.

 

Which way did the kitten go?

Arcade: [GO TO CHAPTER 33](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20979938)

Sideshows: [GO TO CHAPTER 76](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981471)


	11. Chapter 11

The tent the kitten had chosen was immense and tall, the center roped off and ringed by a small crowd of onlookers; an attendant in a striped jacket was taking tickets at the entrance, and Spike rolled his eyes and peeled some off of his diminishing roll as Buffy scanned the crowd for signs of the kitten, following its flashing tail around until the ropes stopped her. It leaped up onto a wooden chest in the restricted area of the tent, smugly grooming itself.

Spike came up beside her, frowning. “Aren’t you going to nab it?”

Buffy glanced around. “Too many people. Think they’ll clear out? We don’t want to get kicked out of the carnival.”

He shrugged. “Next show’s about to start. Fellow says it’s the last of the night, so we could wait it out.” He shifted impatiently, eyeing the kitten.

“What’s the show?”

The lamps lighting the interior of the tent suddenly went out, leaving them in darkness except for four torches set at corners of the roped off area. Slow drum music began, like a sensual heartbeat.

“Fire dancing,” Spike said softly.

There were two dancers, a man and a woman; they came out from opposite ends of the tent, circling the perimeter of the roped off area as if stalking each other. They were each carrying lit torches, and Buffy instinctively stepped in front of Spike, thinking suddenly just how very flammable he was.

Spike laughed, setting his hands on her hips and bringing her back up against him, and oh god, he was hard again, even after what had happened on the log ride, and she couldn’t help but pulse against him, because the dance had started, and _wow._

The dancers were clothed – if barely – and they weren’t doing anything overtly sexual as they spun their torches in mesmerizing patterns, but the theme of the performance was clearly seduction, every movement focused on their partner. They arched and whirled and leaped, changing tools from torch to hoops to flaming pots on long chains, and with each moment they drew closer to each other, until they were nearly intertwined, so close together that Buffy marveled at the fact that they were unburned, and all the while Spike was pulsing his hips against hers, and awareness and arousal licked through her like flames. As the drumbeat intensified, the dancers made contact, wrapping around each other like two flames meeting and joining into a bonfire, and they writhed together with the climax of the music, fire and sweat, and then suddenly every flame in the tent was doused all at once, and Buffy gasped as if released from a spell.

Then the electric lights came on, and the crowd started to filter out.

Buffy spared a glance to make sure the kitten was still there – it seemed to have fallen asleep – before taking Spike by the sleeve and tugging him off to the side, where a draped curtain shielded an array of fire props and shelves of what was probably fuel, from the labels.

“Can’t wait to get me alone?” Spike murmured hotly.

“If we wait until everyone leaves, we can just grab the kitten and go,” Buffy said reasonably, then wound her hands behind his head. “Also, I need your hands on me _right now._ ”

He groaned, or laughed, or something Buffy didn’t really care about defining because then he kissed her, hard, before turning her around and embracing her from behind again, except instead of the subtle, plausibly-deniable pulsing that had wound her up when they were surrounded by other spectators, he slid his hands right up under the damp fabric of her shirt, rubbing his palms hard across her nipples as he ground against her ass, and she ground right back, and what the hell, she caught one of his hands and shoved it down between her legs because she hadn’t been kidding about the _right now_ , she felt ready to pop any second, and Spike delved his hand right inside her underwear, stroking hard and she rocked frantically against him, nearly weeping with desperation until she came with a jolt, sagging against him with her release.

She felt boneless and pliable, like melted wax, and she sank to the floor, pulling Spike down with her, and he muttered an oath into her shoulder, then another into her belly, and then he was swearing steadily into her crotch as he tugged her underwear down to her knees, and then he stopped swearing and started licking and Buffy arched into his tongue, cool and firm and somehow burning, he was burning her up and she opened up to him, hands in his hair, begging him for more, and then the electric lights went out and they were in total darkness.

“Everyone’s gone,” Spike laughed into her, the vibrations rumbling up through her body.

“Don’t you dare stop,” she growled, and he laughed again and didn’t stop, and in the dark Buffy’s world narrowed to nothing but his tongue and hands, his hair disordered under her fingers, and her own voice, gasping and begging and finally keening, until her orgasm swept over her like a brushfire, leaving her charred and spent in its wake.

Spike pressed his cheek into her belly, muttering something that sounded like more of those British swear words, or maybe a prayer, and Buffy tugged at his hair until he came up and snuggled right into her shoulder, and while she couldn’t see him she could kind of tell from the feel of his cheek that he was smiling.

“Should get the kitten,” he said presently, nuzzling into her throat.

“Yeah, we should.”

She held him closer in the dark. Just for a few minutes more.

*

Eventually, though, Buffy started to feel like she had bones again, which made her feel like the ground was a mighty uncomfortable place to be lying with a two-hundred-pound vampire on top of her. The fact that they were surrounded by kerosene was also starting to worry her – Spike really was extra flammable, and she wasn’t too excited about being set on fire herself – and so she nudged Spike into rolling off of her, wriggling back into her panties.

Spike rolled easily to his feet.

“Watch your step,” Buffy cautioned. She still couldn’t see much of anything, just vague shapes.

“Got good night vision,” Spike reassured her. There was a little yelp from the kitten as Spike apparently scooped it up, then a duet of meows as he tucked it into the basket with its friend, and then Spike’s hand was in hers, guiding her up and out from behind the curtain, until they were out in the harsh, loud reality of the carnival. Which was all well and good – it was time to check in with the guys, but Buffy couldn’t help but sigh.

She kind of missed the dark.

[GO TO CHAPTER 133](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982806)

 


	12. Chapter 12

Buffy backed into the tiny alcove, twisting to get through the tiny space, and Spike squeezed in after her, and just kept coming, advancing on her until she was backed up against one of the video games; he planted his fisted hands against the particle board on either side of her waist.

“Are you trying to make me dust?” he bit out, nostrils flaring.

“Yep,” Buffy grinned up at him, daring. “I always wanted to set you on fire.”

Spike growled and kissed her, hard, one of his hands coming up to fist in her hair while his other yanked her hard against him – and ooh, he was ready again, even though it had hardly been any time since the log ride. _Must be a vampire perk,_ Buffy thought with satisfaction, planting her own hands on his ass.

With another growl, or maybe a moan, Spike shoved her hard against the game; it wobbled a bit, and Buffy laughed.

“Careful there, or you’ll give yourself a headache.”

Spike grinned. “Already been through this, love. If I’m not trying to hurt you, chip doesn’t fire, yeah?”

Buffy shrugged in a way that rubbed her breasts right up against him.

His eyes flared, and he shoved his body hard against hers again. “Right now, I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m giving you what you want.”

“Oh, really?” Buffy raised her eyebrows challengingly. “And what do I want?”

Spike leaned in close then, his lips brushing her ear as he spoke in a low, charged voice. “You want to be treated like the warrior goddess you are, worshipped with hand and mouth and heart until you are shaking with unholy ecstasy. I’ll worship you, Buffy. I’ll worship every inch of you, offer myself up as a sacrifice, let you crush me beneath your heel, burn me on your altar.” His hand was on her then, stroking her rough and hard through her panties and god, he was right, it was just what she’d wanted. “I’ll make you come so hard you speak in tongues. I’ll fuck you so hard you see the face of god. And when you’ve had your fill, I’ll offer up my breast for your knife.”

Buffy swallowed. “You mean stake.”

“Do I?” he murmured, and oh god, oh _god_ , she was obviously sick and twisted and going to hell, because she was going to die if she didn’t have him on her or in her or under her right this second, preferably all three, and she wrestled him down to the ground, kissing him desperately. He dug his fingers into her ass, jerking her astride him, and oh, that was good; she rubbed against him, and even through the layers of denim and cotton the hardness of his cock against her pussy was glorious; she planted her hands flat on his stomach for support, her eyes meeting Spike’s in wondering ecstasy as she ground into him, hard and rough, because gentle was so not what she needed right now, she needed friction and pressure and  - oh yes, _that_ , she needed that, his thumbs roughly abrading her clit through the fabric, and she came with a gasp, eyes widening.

He grinned wickedly up at her then, his hands on her thighs urging her up and forward while he scooted down, down, and then he was sucking on her clit through the fabric, licking at her from below, and all she could think was that she needed more, and she hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her panties and shoved them down as far as they could go, which wasn’t all that far with her legs spread wide but far enough he could hook them with his chin and then it was just his mouth right on her, his cool tongue flicking and stroking just right. One hand was on her hip, clutching hard, and the other came up between her legs, rubbing deliciously all the way to her entrance, and then his fingers were pumping inside her as she writhed against his tongue, and she arched back and offered herself up to him, shaking as he drove her up and up until she came again, but god she needed more, _more_ , but it wasn’t enough just to be worshipped, she needed to give, and so she tore herself away from his questing mouth, turning and twisting until she could reach his jeans.

He groaned and yanked her back astride his face, devouring her with even more intensity as she frantically yanked down his zipper, and oh she knew all sorts of things she could do to make this good for him, she’d read Cosmo, but all she could think right now was _mine_ and she took him right into her mouth, hard and deep, and from the way her swore into her, sucking desperately on her clit, that was just what he wanted anyhow. She pumped her head up and down, his hard cock slippery with her saliva, and Spike kept licking and nibbling and sucking on her, and oh god, she could feel it building again, she was frantic now, her hips and her mouth matching rhythm, faster and faster and then she came, sucking hard in her ecstasy, sucking harder as she began to come down, pumping and pumping until he groaned and came in her mouth, and she collapsed atop him, not caring how ridiculous their position was, because holy crap that had been amazing, carnal and divine.

Once she could breathe again, she wriggled around until she could snuggle into Spike’s chest.

“Good thing the arcade’s empty,” she whispered.

“Yeah,” Spike sighed, happily exhausted. “Though a fellow could hope for a more comfortable bed.”

Buffy had to agree; she had electrical cords sticking into her body in various unpleasant ways. “Later,” she said softly. “We’ll find someplace comfy.”

Spike didn’t answer for a long time, looking dazedly up at the tent roof, and finally her gave her a tight little hug. “Yeah,” he said at last. “Later.”

And then some voices passed by the tent and the spell was broken.

*

They hastily reassembled their clothing – which actually wasn’t much work – and Buffy was just starting to look around for the kitten again when Spike laughed, pointing at his basket.

The calico kitten was curled up on the lid, fast asleep.

“That saves some trouble,” Spike grinned, scooping the sleepy kitten up and tucking her inside. He cast Buffy a sidelong glance. “More energy for other things.”

She grinned right back, because darned if she wasn’t feeling pretty darn energetic at the moment. “That’s right Spike. Save your energy for later.”

And they headed back towards the rendezvous point.

[GO TO CHAPTER 66](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981075)


	13. Chapter 13

The Siamese kitten dashed out of the tent and Spike followed, grumbling a bit at the perfect scenario for shagging they were leaving behind, while still feeling giddy and uplifted at the fact that Buffy seemed to actually care what happened to him. What was up with that? And was it just the way she cared for any of the Scoobies, Xander or Willow or Giles, or was it something more?

Well, he was pretty sure she hadn’t done any of the things they’d been up to this evening with any of the other Scoobies – if she had, they’d likely be dead, way the slayer burned – but it was always possible he was just a Scooby-with-benefits.

And that was all right by him – he’d gladly spend his whole existence being _beneficial_ to Buffy’s sweet body – but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want more, and lying was one of those things he was putting effort into not doing so that he could stay by Buffy’s side, so it behooved him to be honest even with himself, just to keep things straight in his head.

He wanted more than just this one night.

He just didn’t know how to get it.

Buffy was leading the way, gingerly picking her way through tent ropes in pursuit of the kitten as she took the occasional nibble at her deep-fried cookie, and he watched her as he followed, brow furrowed, considering various options.

Chaining Buffy up: Bad. He’d got that message loud and clear.

Tying her up was thus also probably Bad. Pity, that. Perhaps she’d be more amenable if he were the one bound… ah, but that was looking too far ahead. He was fair certain Buffy wasn’t the type to tie up a bloke, at least not until the… fourth date? Maybe third. God, he hoped so.

Dru had always been partial to gifts, but Buffy wasn’t one for dollies, or orphans, or still-warm hearts, and while she might accept chocolates or jewelry he had a sneaking suspicion they wouldn’t be convincing, not the way he wanted to convince her.

He briefly considered changing up his look, going for a bit of… who was that fellow she liked on the telly? George Clooney? But she’d likely get all up in arms about where he’d got the money for the togs, and she’d be right to, because bugger if he was going to spend his actual money on looking like _that_. Bad enough he still had his bloody boring Finn ensemble taking up space in his armoire. Now _there_ had been a bloody brilliant move…

Sex might work – and he was certainly willing to ply her with it – but again, no matter how hot he made her, how loud she screamed in ecstasy… all that passion was in her. She didn’t need him to burn like the sun. She could get that anywhere. (Well, perhaps not the other Scoobies, as they were quite fragile. But _else_ where, that was the point.)

The more he thought on it, the more he despaired, because… there really wasn’t anything he could do. She might love him someday, or she might not, and he couldn’t do a cursed thing to make it happen, except what he had been doing. Be by her side, fighting the good fight, and wait.

It was bloody unfair, that there wasn’t some combination-lock on Buffy’s heart that he could figure out or pick or bloody break, something simple he could just _do_ , but… Well, he didn’t _want_ that. He wanted her to open it for him, of her own free will. He wanted, god help him, to be _chosen_.

Bloody white hats. They’d bloody well infected him, is what, and now he was ruined for all normal relationships.

The kitten led them a merry chase, between tents and behind rides, and Buffy and Spike had to run faster and faster, until they suddenly came out into the open, out in the parking area in front of the carnival.

Spike turned around, but whatever opening they had come out of was gone; the board fence surrounding the tents was solid and extended to both sides as far as he could see. Including the area where Spike could have sworn the entrance was.

“I got it!” Buffy said triumphantly.

“Brilliant,” Spike said. “That’s all three. Problem is, we’re out here and the loan shark’s in there.”

“We’ll just go in and…” Buffy blinked. “Where’s the entrance?”

Spike just looked at her.

They circled the carnival over and over, gradually collecting Scoobies as the carnival spit them out here and there, but they couldn’t find a way back in, and eventually they had to give up, heading home and leaving the mystery of the carnival unsolved.

And Spike, tragically, unshagged.

THE END

 

Would you like to try again? [Go to Chapter 1!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20978552)

[Read the Author’s Notes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20983016)


	14. Chapter 14

At the last second, Buffy pulled her hand back.

“No,” she said firmly. “I’m not going to play your game. What I _am_ going to do is kick your ass up one side of the midway and down the other.”

The demon laughed and laughed, and clapped its myriad hands together, sending thunderclaps booming through the carnival. It wavered before Buffy’s eyes like a mirage – and then vanished, dissolving into tendrils of glowing green energy that wound and twisted around the carnival flags and tent ropes.

“Where did it go?” Anya cried, panicked.

“Did it go somewhere?” Giles frowned. “This is most frustrating. What color was it?”

The energy trails pulsed then, and the demon’s voice blared out from the loudspeaker, drowning out the cheery calliope tune.

_CHOOSE!_

“Why is it asking us to choose? I don’t understand,” Tara said.

_CHOOSE THE PATH TO YOUR DOOM!_

“Oh, I get it!” Willow piped up, excited. “It’s going to make us pick how we die! It’s a classic thing baddies like to do to mess with their victims.”

Buffy frowned. “Wasn’t this in a movie or something?”

Willow went on. “So all we have to do is not choose anything. Everyone, clear your minds! Whatever you do, don’t think of anything!” Buffy scanned the Scoobies’ faces, saw that they had all closed their eyes in deep concentration – well, she couldn’t quite tell with Giles, but he had concentrate-y eyebrows at least – and closed her own eyes, wiping her thoughts clear, everything pure and white and…

_THE CHOICE IS MADE!_

Buffy’s eyes popped open. “Wait a minute! We didn’t choose anything!”

_THE PATH TO YOUR DOOM AWAITS!_

“But we didn’t choose!” She glared around at her friends, one at a time. “Did you choose anything?” Willow shook her head. “Did you?” Another no from Tara. “Did you?” Anya shrugged a no. “Did you?” Spike rolled his eyes. “Did you?”

Giles stayed silent a long moment, then started. “Oh, me? No, I used the Sato-shu _zazen_ technique and was in a perfect state of _satori_ …”

“Nobody choosed anything!” Buffy yelled at the loudspeaker.

Then, as one, they all turned to stare at Xander, except for Giles, who turned to stare at a vaguely-Xander-sized cardboard clown cutout.

Xander shrugged sheepishly.

The demon’s laughter echoed through the square, and the oozing tendrils of energy brightened, and expanded, and wound around them all until they were all surrounded by pulsing green energy…

 

[GO TO CHAPTER 139](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982944)

 


	15. Chapter 15

Buffy turned in his arms, sliding her hands up to rest on his chest. “It’s not fair,” she said, tracing random shapes on his pectoral.

“Mmmm, pouty,” Spike murmured, resting his hands on her hips. “What’s not fair?” He nipped lightly at her lower lip.

She blinked an innocent look up at him. “Well, I’m all naked.”

“That you are,” he agreed with an appreciative once-over. “Except for the boots… and you should keep those on.”

“And you’re not.”

“Well, _there’s_ an emergency,” Spike grinned. “Call out the bloody fire brigade.”

But he was already shrugging out of his duster, and Buffy watched solemnly as he efficiently stripped until he was standing before her, pale and naked and beautiful. She stepped forward, sliding her arms around his waist, and pressed her cheek to his chest.

Spike heaved a gusty sigh, wrapping his arms around her back, and she suddenly felt like she had been scraped raw, the sweet intimacy of the moment bringing tears to her eyes, because… she really didn’t know how she felt, everything was tangled and twisted and muddy inside, but right now, wrapped in the arms of her former nemesis, everything seemed so simple and clean, and for a moment she wished… She sighed and tilted her chin up, and his lips were there to meet hers, tender and fervent, and he wanted her, and _god_ how she wanted him, so maybe it was simple after all.

She shoved at his shoulders until he sank back to the ground, watching her with guarded wonder as she followed him down, his hands on her hips, his cock hard and cool against her; she slid wetly along his length a few times before reaching down with her hands and tilting her hips just right, and then he was inside her and oh god it was perfect. She let her head fall back, arching up, and she could see her reflection all around her, taut breasts and quivering thighs and tangled hair, like one of those fertility goddess statues her mom had sold in her gallery, and oh yes she felt like a goddess. She looked down at Spike, at the look of worship in his eyes, and she saw that it was good.

With a sigh, Buffy leaned forward and kissed him sweetly, on the mouth and the chin and at the base of his throat, and then she started to move, rocking slowly above him, savoring the sweet wet slide of each stroke, and he moved with her, but dreamily, watching her as if he expected her to disappear at any moment. Something welled up inside her as she watched him, something she couldn’t put a name to, not yet, but she was suddenly overwhelmed by a wash of tenderness. She smiled.

“Does it feel good?” she said softly.

Spike made a strangled sound somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “Bloody brilliant,” he gasped, curving his hands around her breasts.

Serenely, Buffy caught his hands and pressed them into the ground beside his head, leaning forward until they were nose to nose, her hair falling all about his face. “Have _you_ ever watched yourself?”

“No reflection,” he murmured.

“You could use a video camera,” Buffy pointed out, giving her hips a little swirl.

His eyes rolled back in his head for a moment. “But I haven’t.”

Buffy released his hands and sat back up. “Then I’ll do it for you,” she said regally. “I’ll watch.”

“Will you, indeed?”

Buffy nodded. “For science.”

Spike laughed brokenly as she resumed gliding up and down his length. “Writing a thesis, are you?”

“What can I say?” Buffy shrugged. “I have an enquiring mind.” She splayed her hands out on his chest, leaning down just a bit to meet his wide, wondering eyes. “I want to know what makes you quiver, what makes you curse. I want to figure out what makes your eyes roll back in your head and your toes curl. I want to find the things that make you beg for more. I want to make you _scream._ And most of all, I want to see your face while I do it.”

Spike was panting, looking up at her. “Gonna suss out all my weaknesses?”

“Well, that is what arch-nemeses do. And I already know one,” Buffy whispered, and swift as a panther she seized his hands again, slamming them down above his shoulders. “You like this.”

He arched beneath her. “Got me there.”

Buffy leaned back up, scratching her fingers lightly across his chest along the way. “So my keen logical brain tells me… you like it when I’m in charge.”

“Brilliant deduction, love.” Spike shrugged, nonchalantly tucking his hands behind his head. “Like _being_ in charge, too.” He gave a quick hard thrust of his hip, driving his cock deeper.

“Me too,” Buffy gasped. “I always thought… I don’t know, like being the girl meant I should be all sweet and giving and submissive. And… sometimes that’s good.” She rocked lazily against Spike. “Sometimes I think that’s what I need.”

Spike nodded in judicious agreement, rocking with her, his biceps twitching. “And what do you need now?”

She smiled. “To be all sweet and giving…” she said in a voice like honey, then swirled her hips hard. “And in charge.”

Spike’s eyes closed and his lips moved for a moment as if in prayer, and then he tilted his chin up in challenge. “You are most definitely in charge, love,” he said with a faint smile. “Now, what are you going to do?”

“Make you scream,” Buffy whispered.

Spike shrugged, all lazy insouciance, but Buffy could see he was trembling. “Do your worst,” he whispered back. “’M a hard nut to crack.” He punctuated that with a little jerk of his hips that told her yes, the dirty insinuation was a deliberate dare.

“That’s what I figured,” Buffy said loftily, then clenched hard around him, eliciting a grunt of pleasure. “Don’t disappoint me, Spike. And be honest. This is for science.” And she began to move.

Ah, he was honest indeed, dropping his air of unconcern instantly to run his hands lazily along her thighs as she rose and fell, taking her time, watching every nuance of his expression. He had always been so easy to read, his eyes a window on his emotions even when he was unrepentantly evil, even when he was trying to hide them, and now that he had opened himself to her completely – she had made the decision to watch, but now she had no choice, she just couldn’t look away.

She could feel her own pleasure simmering, on the back burner while she took Spike in and in, undulating above him, reveling in the way he basked when she was slow and thorough, the way he shook when she was fast and hard, the way he swore and jerked when she was rough, scratching her fingernails down his chest. She kissed the faint red lines after, gentle, and his hands slid through her hair as she lay across him, pressing her forehead into his chest, and then he was pumping inside her, hands curved around her shoulders for leverage, and she opened to him, letting him take what he needed, and then he jerked and quivered and clutched her tight, muttering something into her hair.

She heard it, and she’d known it, because he’d told her before, but she had been closed, and now… now she was open, and he didn’t need to hide. She pushed herself back up, gasping at the sensation of his still-half-hard cock sliding inside her, and gazed into his eyes.

“Say it,” she said softly. “You can say it to my face.”

He looked up at her, every bit of him naked, body and eyes and self. “I love you, Buffy.”

She curved a hand around his cheek. “I know,” she said gently, wishing that she was ready to say more.

But he smiled up at her boyishly, like she’d just given him a pony for Christmas, and laughed a little, and she laughed back, feeling a little foolish, and then his hands curled around her knees and his smile turned wicked.

“So,” he said, voice a little smug. “Reach any interesting conclusions, professor?”

Buffy put on a thoughtful look. “Maybe. I think we need a few more tests.”

Spike shook his head, face resigned. “Well, I suppose if it’s for _science_.”

“The first test is, how long until we can do it again.” She swirled her hips thoughtfully.

“Do that a few more times, and you should be all clear to fuck me senseless,” Spike said huskily, and his words sent a jolt of lust through her so she did it again, a good hard swirl, and yeah, she could tell she didn’t have long to wait.

Maybe less time than even he thought. “So,” she said, watching him closely. “You want me to _fuck_ you?”

Spike jerked gratifyingly inside her. “Bloody hell, Slayer. Warn a fellow!”

“What?” Buffy said innocently. “I just asked if you wanted me to _fuck_ you. Because, you know, _I_ want me to fuck you _._ ” And ah yes, there, he was ready, and she put words into action, sliding up and down his hard cock.

His chest was heaving and he was staring at her like she was Aphrodite on the half-shell, and then his eyes narrowed, his hands suddenly hard on her hips as he thrust up into her. “You are bloody well going to be the end of me,” he gritted out harshly.

“Am I?” Buffy gasped, desperate because somewhere along the line she had lost control, her simmer jumping straight to boiling. “All I did was say something naughty.” She met him thrust for thrust, arching her back. “I thought it might speed things up a bit.”

Then his hands were on her breasts, thumbs rubbing her nipples hard. “Well, bugger if I’m going down alone,” he growled. “You’re coming with me.”

That sounded glorious to Buffy, but… She caught at his hands, tugging them down to rest on her knees. “No,” she said softly. “This is about you.”

“You want to know what makes me beg for more, yeah?” His eyes were narrow now, knowing. “Well this is it. I’m begging.” He slid his hands up her thighs until his thumbs met right at her core. “Please, Buffy. Come for me.”

And there went all her resolve to be sweet and giving, except as Spike strove against her, stroking her throbbing clit until she was shaking, boiling over, she thought suddenly that this was a kind of giving too, the gift of her own joy, and oh it _was_ sweet, and she stopped holding back, she gave him everything. As she shook and clenched with her orgasm he pistoned up into her, harder and harder, deeper than she’d ever imagined possible, then shouted something inarticulate as he spasmed inside her, pulling her down for a final breathless kiss.

Some time later, when Buffy returned to the land of the able-to-form-sentences, she nuzzled into his shoulder, loving the feel of his hand in her hair.

“I love science,” she said.

Spike laughed brokenly. “Yeah, well, me too.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “And what fine lesson did we learn today?”

“I learned that I’m beautiful when I come,” she said shyly. “And so are you.”

“Am I?” he whispered.

She nodded against his shoulder. “And also, thank you.”

He didn’t ask for what, which both relieved and disappointed her, because she’d had kind of a speech planned, but… it would keep.

“I wanted to know what would make you scream,” she said instead, sighing contentedly. “Now I know. And knowing, as they say, is half the battle.”

Spike wrapped his arms tighter around her. “Huh. What’s the other half.”

Buffy traced a shape on his chest – a heart, or a flower, or maybe just a B. “Choosing.”

*

Wonderful as the cuddling was, it was hard to get around the fact that they could not spend the rest of their lives naked in the Hall of Mirrors, so eventually they disentangled themselves from each other, gathering the scattered pieces of their clothes. It was weirdly mundane, and decidedly surreal – watching Spike pick up an article of clothing in reality, and watching the clothing disappear in the mirror at the same time.

“How does that work?” Buffy asked, after watching Spike’s shirt vanish into thin air.

“What?”

“The clothes. They have a reflection… and then they don’t.”

Spike shrugged, tugging the shirt over his head. “Dunno. It just does.” He sauntered over to her and slipped his arms around her waist, kissing her shoulder. “Cameras work too, and I hear tell they involve mirrors of some kind. My considered opinion is that it’s not the mirror, it’s something about the human brain looking at the mirror.”

Buffy frowned thoughtfully. “So maybe, like, cats can see vampires in mirrors?”

Spike grinned into her shoulder. “Maybe. But here’s something that’s certain.” He released her and took three swift strides, reaching behind a corner. “ _Vampires_ can see _cats_ in mirrors.” And he scooped up the calico kitten. It mewed sleepily.

“And kitten makes three,” Spike said with satisfaction.

 

[GO TO CHAPTER 94](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981942)


	16. Chapter 16

Buffy accepted the huge puffy mass of cotton candy, twirled into a perfectly symmetrical cloud by the teen concessions worker – and if that wasn’t a sign of evil shenanigans, Buffy didn’t know what was. Still, it just wasn’t a carnival without cotton candy; she plucked off a bit of fluff and popped it in her mouth, the melting sensation and sharp oversweetness sending her back to the times her dad had taken her down to the pier.

But the present was, if she were honest, far more interesting; she strolled over to Spike, who had claimed a picnic table for them after paying for the cotton candy, lounging with his elbows up and scanning their surroundings for kitten sign.

She plucked off a bit of pink fluff and held it out for him; he nipped it showily out of her fingers, face thoughtful as she settled in the curve of his arm.

“See any sign of the kitten?” she asked casually, snuggling in a bit.

Spike dropped his arm to her shoulder, snuggling her in more. “Not a hair. Though I’m thinking that shed behind the Zipper seems a likely spot.”

“For the kitten to hide?”

Spike’s fingers tightened fractionally. “For privacy.”

Buffy rolled her eyes, taking another little bite of fluff. “You do realize that if we get this kitten thing squared away, we then have the rest of the night off. We can do whatever we want, for as long as we want.” She frowned at her cotton candy. Wasn’t there something else she was supposed to do tonight?

Spike gave her a measuring look. “Whatever we want?”

She looked up at him through her lashes, pointedly biting another chunk of fluff off her cloud.

“Right, then!” He clapped her on the shoulder, rolling to his feet. “Let’s find that kitten!”

*

Buffy caught a glimpse of the Siamese kitten just a few minutes later, darting into a plain brown tent set a ways back from the midway, taking Spike’s hand and tugging him along.

Inside the tent was dim, lit by a single spotlight hanging from a support, utilitarian extension cord draped between the tent supports until it disappeared under the canvas wall. A black curtain hung down the middle of the tent, dividing it in two. A sturdy folding table was set up against the curtain, littered with a few odds and ends; various boxes and bins and pieces of scenery were arranged around the tent walls.

“Well,” Buffy said. “Looks like we found the Evil Supply Tent.”

Spike came up behind her, setting his hands lightly on her hips. “A fine and _private_ Evil Supply Tent.”

As his hands glided around to her belly and under her shirt, Buffy sank into him, though a tiny qualm of responsibility made her ask, “What about the kitten?”

“Bugger the kitten,” Spike growled, hands cupping her breasts, and that was enough to salve Buffy’s conscience; she reached down and took the hem of her shirt in her hands, skinning it up over her head, and it was like she’d waved a red flag in front of a bull; Spike’s hands went from teasing to urgent in an instant, one sliding down to stroke her through her skirt, and Buffy was seeing red too, her vision dimmed by lust. She turned in his arms, shoving at his duster, and they wrestled and caressed and kissed until they were naked, and Spike wrapped one arm around her waist, dragging her over to the table and using his other arms to sweep the detritus off the top, laying her back and fitting his cock to her, and _oh_ it was lovely, the hard slick glide of their bodies fitting together, and Buffy hooked her ankles around his waist and thrust back…

And the black curtain suddenly whisked open, a dozen bright stage lights glaring in her eyes.

She froze, staring out past the lights, and as her eyes adjusted she realized… they had an audience. And not just any audience – Giles and Willow and Tara and Xander and Anya were all sitting front row center, eyes wide and mouths gaping open. Xander had a piece of popcorn dangling from his lip. And behind them, more people Buffy knew, friends and acquaintances from high school, the Bronze, UC-Sunnydale….

She squealed and rolled off the table, scrabbling for Spike’s duster, which she held up in front of both of them. Spike was just standing there now, looking befuddled.

The audience stared.

“So!” Buffy said brightly. “Everyone enjoying the carnival so far?”

 THE END

 

Would you like to try again? [Go to Chapter 1!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20978552)

[Read the Author’s Notes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20983016)


	17. Chapter 17

Spike followed Buffy behind the game, but as soon as they were out of sight – had there been anyone in the empty arcade to see them – he dropped the basket and gave her hand a tug and a twist, and Buffy found herself pinned up against the back of the machine, Spike’s hands pressing her wrists into the wood by her ears.

“What the bloody hell was that, Slayer?” he muttered, glaring right into her eyes.

Buffy bared her teeth at him, panting. “The thing with the horsies? It’s called a carousel.”

Spike growled deep in his throat and lunged in, kissing her desperately, but when his lips started to travel down her throat Buffy ducked, taking his wrist and spinning so she had his arms twisted behind his back, his face pressed into the machine. He swore, sending a hot, surly glance over his shoulder.

Buffy rose on tiptoe and pressed against his back, so her lips were close to his ear. “Was there something else getting you all worked up?” She caught his earlobe between her teeth.

He groaned, low and harsh, tilting his head towards her. “You trying to make me dust?”

“Is that what it seems like?” Buffy was dizzy, desire and nervousness spinning her head. “And here I thought I was trying to turn you on.” She pressed a row of gentle kisses down the side of his neck.

“Mission bloody accomplished,” he snarled, twisting in her grasp, and then he was kissing her, or fighting her, or something in between, all tongues and teeth and hands, and then she stopped trying to figure out exactly what it was because it was glorious, that’s what it was, and she wanted it to never, ever stop.

She had her back against the game again, leg hiked up around Spike’s waist as they ground together, when he caught her wrists again and shoved them over her head, eyes blazing. “You and your bloody cream-filled torture device,” he muttered distractedly, eyes traveling down her body and back up to her face.

Buffy arched against him. “Give you some ideas?”

“Bloody inspirational,” Spike growled, releasing her wrists to cup her breasts. He bent and sucked one nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around over the fabric of her shirt. Buffy let her head fall back against the game, eyes closed, the grunts and battle cries of the digital death match a counterpoint to her own gasps and whimpers.

Spike paused and let his forehead fall against her sternum for a moment. “You’re going to be the death of me, Slayer,” he muttered, then shoved her shirt up to her armpits.

“Spike! What if someone sees?” Buffy hissed, but then his tongue was on her bare breast, wet and urgent, and she fell back again. “Oh god.”

“Nobody here,” Spike growled into her nipple, then did something with his teeth that made Buffy not care if the Pope himself were watching. She tangled her hands in his hair, urging him on.

Then his hands were fumbling under her skirt, and it made perfect sense to Buffy that her hands be there with his, shoving frantically at the waistband of her panties until they were down around her thighs. Spike fell to his knees amidst the tangled electrical cords as if he were in church, except he hooked his thumbs under her knees and hiked her thighs up and over his shoulders and set his mouth to her and oh god if he was praying it was the filthiest worship ever, his tongue tracing sutras and psalms deep into her until she was speaking in tongues herself, nonsense dripping from her lips like prophecies. She came hard against his lips, banging her head against the arcade game, and he groaned and lapped it up, his hands clutching at her thighs, and the game behind her growled _Finish him!_ and she laughed as he growled something profane right into her, building her up and up and up until she convulsed again, kicking his back hard enough to bruise, and then he was the one laughing, disbelieving mirth rumbling right up through her. He ducked in and gave her one tender, reverent kiss, right where she was still quaking like a revelation.

And then, just as he was starting in yet again, there was a burst of laughter as a troop of loud teens entered the arcade.

Frantically Buffy shoved at his head, and he glared up at her but heaved her up and back onto her feet as she tugged her shirt and her skirt and her panties back into place, hands trembling.

“Don’t fancy an audience?” he said wryly from his knees, wiping ostentatiously at his mouth.

“Of course not!” Buffy hissed back, though she felt a hot tremor run through her at the suggestion.

Spike rolled to his feet. “Suit yourself,” he said in a deliberately offhanded voice, setting his hands on her hips and pulling her up against him. “Wouldn’t mind some privacy for the next course.”

Buffy was trying to get her afterglow-addled brain to come up with a clever retort when she heard a plaintive _meow_ from above. She glanced up to see the calico kitten perched atop the Mortal Kombat game, blinking down in accusation.

“Oh god,” Buffy moaned as Spike reached up and snagged the kitten by the scruff of its neck, tucking it in the basket with the black kitten and securing the lid. “I hope it wasn’t watching!”

Spike shrugged. “Doubt we’ve scarred it for life, love.” He patted the basket lid smugly. “Righty-ho. Two down, one to go.”

 

[GO TO CHAPTER 91](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981876)


	18. Chapter 18

The tent had a big “Closed” sign standing just outside, but the kitten had ignored it and Buffy did too, slipping around the sign and in through the tent flap, where she stopped in her tracks, because of all the things she had expected to see in this tent, a single old car sitting smack dab in the middle hadn’t even made the top one hundred.

Stepping into the tent behind her, Spike let out a low whistle. “Bloody hell, haven’t seen that since the sixties.”

Buffy folded her arms. “What? It’s just an old car.”

Spike glanced at her slyly, “Not just any car.” He sauntered over, running a hand over the top. “This here’s a 1928 Cadillac, custom fitted with body armor, bullet-proof glass…” He rapped a fist firmly against the glass. “This car belonged to Al Capone.”

“And you know this how?”

“Seen it before. Used to make the rounds of the sideshows, back in the day.”

“Huh.” Despite herself, Buffy was slightly intrigued.

“There’s bullet holes too,” Spike continued, walking around the car and peering in the window. “From a firefight.”

“Really?” Okay, that was actually interesting. “Where?”

“You have to get in the car to see them.” And Spike unlatched the door, holding it open with a sardonic bow.

Buffy sighed, but really, how likely was it that she’d ever have the chance to see the bullet holes in Al Capone’s car again? She slipped into the back seat, sliding across the leather upholstery. Spike climbed in after her, shutting the door and tucking his arm around her.

“So,” Buffy said, a little exasperated after looking around for a bit fruitlessly. “Where exactly are these bullet holes?”

Spike grinned. “There aren’t any. Just had a fancy to snog my woman in Al Capone’s bullet-proof Cadillac.” And he knuckled her chin up and kissed her, and she knew she should get after him for the lie, but if she were honest, smooching in Al Capone’s car was kind of a nifty thing, something not too many people could say they’d done, and well, yeah, maybe she was going easy on him because of the whole log ride most-erotic-experience-of-her-life thing, but seriously, who wouldn’t? So she returned his kiss, lying back on the seat in case anyone came into the tent, and when he broke away to nuzzle at her ear, she took hold of his hand and tucked it under her damp shirt.

“Check it out, Spike. Now you’re on second base in Al Capone’s bullet-proof Caddy.”

“That I am,” Spike laughed, and then he helped her get her shirt over her head, gazing down at her breasts with hot eyes before running a shockingly gentle hand all down her torso and up again. “God, you’re…” He didn’t finish, bending and pressing a reverent kiss to the very center of her chest, and then he dove right into second base, hands and lips desperate on her, Buffy clutching just as desperately at his head, and then he kissed a line right down her stomach, his hands fumbling under her skirt, and she helped him tug her panties down, because yeah, third base in Al Capone’s bulletproof Cadillac was even better than second base, except then he flipped her skirt up and set his mouth to her and oh. Oh. Was that technically third base? It felt a lot more basier – not a home run technically, home run was set in stone, but like maybe there were ten bases and this was number eleven and okay that was enough thinking for now, she sank back into the leather and enjoyed the feel of Spike’s cool tongue against her.

He relaxed when she did, eyes on her face as he licked and sucked at her, and it was weird, because Buffy had never imagined this, the surreally sweet intimacy of watching his tongue on her while he watched her watching him, and she reached down and brushed her knuckles against his cheekbone, feeling unaccountably tender.  He closed his eyes for the barest moment before cocking an eyebrow and doing something with his tongue that sent a sweet, sharp orgasm sighing right through her.

He pressed his forehead into her belly for a moment, lips moving against her in words she couldn’t hear, and then his mouth was on her again, except harder, hungrier, and she was panting now, but she couldn’t look away from his hot eyes, which were dancing with challenge, and somehow his hands found hers, or hers found his, and their fingers tangled together and they were linked hand to hand and eye to eye as he drove her right up to the edge again, and this time when she tumbled over, shaking with the force of it, she dragged him up until she could hold him to her breast, eyes staring up at the roof of the car as they quivered together.

Huh. There was a hole up there, after all. Probably not a bullethole, but she could always pretend.

Spike scooched up then, kissing her on the forehead and then hard on the mouth, before tugging them both around to sitting on the bench seat, his arm around her like they were at the drive-through. Except for the no-shirt thing, which… oh, all right, it was just like they were at the drive-through.

“So,” Buffy said breathlessly after a bit. “Feeling like the Godfather now?”

“What?” Spike said innocently. “Just had a fancy to bring my woman off in Al Capone’s bullet-proof Cadillac.” He gave her shoulders a little squeeze. “Twice. And technically, Al Capone wasn’t…”

Buffy shut him up with a kiss before he could get talking about movies again. Or maybe she just wanted to kiss him.

She was just starting to think a home run in Al Capone’s bullet-proof Cadillac was a really fantastic idea – or maybe there was a twelfth base they could explore – when there was a scrabbling of claws and a plaintive _meow!_ from the front seat; Spike leaned forward and snatched up the Siamese kitten from where it was scaling the driver’s seat back.

“Enough of that,” he said firmly. “Mustn’t leave claw marks in the leather of an antique.”

Buffy rolled her eyes, locating her shirt and pulling it over her head. “Says the man who just debauched said antique.”

He grinned at her as he opened the car door. “Can’t think of any better way to honor the history of this vehicle.” He stepped out and held the car door for her, kitten securely tucked in his other hand. “Except maybe fucking you over the hood,” he went on casually.

Buffy nearly fell out of the car. “Oh.” _Oh god_.

He eyed her, grinning. “Like that idea, do you?”

She did, she really did, but the kitten was squirming and meowing, and it reminded her that the Scoobies were supposed to be meeting them – they were probably already late – and they had another kitten to catch if Spike was going to not have his head bitten off, and…. _Dammit._

“Maybe I do,” she said finally, grinning in challenge. “You’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you?”

And she turned and walked out of the tent.

[GO TO CHAPTER 133](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982806)

 


	19. Chapter 19

Buffy had been hoping the tent the kitten had chosen would be someplace private, but no such luck; there were a few dozen people wandering around the tent, which was ringed with small stages, each of which held a different performer. On one, a pair of flexible acrobats in spangled unitards were doing an intricate balancing act; on another, a juggler was gliding a glass ball around from hand to hand in a mesmerizing dance. The kitten was pawing at the base of a third, which held a woman in a glittery feathered outfit that could have come right out of a Vegas dance hall. She was holding a sword in her hand, showing it off to the crowd.

Buffy liked her on sight.

Spike came up beside her then, scowling around at the crowd. “Bloody hell. Can’t a fellow get a moment alone with his lady? Let’s nab the kitten and try the next tent over.”

Buffy snuck her hand into his, shushing him. “In a minute. There’s a sword.”

Spike eyed the girl in front of them, then grinned. “All right then.” He slipped behind Buffy, easing his arms around her waist, and she leaned back into him, because she’d missed this, this kind of casual cuddling and contact, almost as much as she’d missed kissing.

“What do you think she’s going to do?” she whispered, and Spike chuckled into her ear.

“She’s a sword-swallower, love. She’s building up the crowd now, see, with those flashy moves? In a minute she’s going to stick that sword right down her throat.” Spike’s arms tightened, and Buffy was suddenly very aware of the fact that he was hard against her, his cock snug up against her behind, and she couldn’t help but twitch against him, wishing yet again that this tent had been good and empty.

“So,” she murmured, low enough that only he could hear her. “She’s going to swallow that sword, is she?” She gave another little twitch of her hips, in case he missed that she was trying for a double entendre. He twitched right back in acknowledgment.

“That she will, love. She’ll open her pretty lips and suck it right down.” His voice was low now, deep and dark and suggestive.

“Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Indeed it is. But there’s an art to it. You have to use your lips and your mouth and your tongue just right.”

“Oh.” Buffy licked her lips.

“But I hear it’s very rewarding,” Spike purred, pulsing against her. “Especially for the sword.”

Buffy giggled at that, and he rumbled a laugh into her shoulder, and they watched together as the feathered lady tilted her head back and poked the sword down her throat, and then again from a couple different angles, before bowing and leaving her stage, ducking behind a curtain at the back.

As soon as she was gone, Spike stepped forward and snatched up the calico kitten, tucking it securely into the basket; Buffy waited patiently, but when the lid was secured, she tucked her hand into Spike’s and led him out of the tent.

“Come on, let’s blow this deep-fried popsicle stand.”

Spike followed after her, still grinning cheekily. “Can’t deep-fry a popsicle, love,” he said as she scanned the area until she saw what she wanted. She stomped over to the little maintenance shed tucked behind the sideshow tent and dragged Spike inside, slamming him up against the inside of the door.

“No,” she said sweetly. “But I can blow you.”

Spike’s mouth fell open. “Such language, Slayer!”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Well, I was going to say something about swallowing your sword, but I think we’ve belabored that metaphor enough for one night.” She folded her arms, taking a step back. “Belt.”

His eyes closed for the barest moment before he glared a challenge at her, unbuckling his belt. When she lifted an eyebrow, he went on to pop the button on his jeans, dragging the zipper down slowly, and then his cock was out and in his hand, the expression on his face somewhere between terror and eagerness.

She stepped forward again, nudging his hand aside so she could curl her own around him, stroking tenderly. She was going to say something else, something funny or sexy or maybe even mean – but sexy-mean, because she knew Spike liked it – but looking at his face brought something tender welling up inside her, so she just gave him a sweet, brief kiss on the lips before sinking to her knees.

He tasted of salt and copper, and she savored it, taking long licks along his length before she took him into her mouth, slowly, sucking him as deep as she could, and he groaned something that might have been words as she drew her lips back along his length, giving a last little suck at the head before swirling her tongue around and around, exploring every ridge and contour before taking him deep again, glacier-slow, and he rested one hand lightly on her head, like a benediction, as she teased and tormented and pleasured him, loving the feel of him beneath her tongue, silk and steel, the slide of his foreskin and the hardness beneath.

God, he was responsive, his gentle hand and his taut body and his voice urging her on, and she could feel her own arousal building, little darts of need spiking through her as she escalated, pumping him in and out of her mouth, slippery and hard and god how would it feel to have him inside her, looking at her with those eyes, his hands in her hair and his lips and his teeth and she groaned around him, scraping her teeth along his length as she sucked him harder without thinking and he bit out a surprised oath and came in her mouth.

“Bloody hell, Slayer,” he gasped brokenly.

Buffy wiped off her mouth, feeling satisfied, if not sated. “Liked that, huh?”

“Bloody genius,” he averred, hauling her up for a hard kiss.

She gave his softening cock a final stroke. “Better get tidied up. We have one more kitten to catch.” Buffy prided herself on her sense of responsibility. They had a mission, and she was going to ensure they completed it, no matter how much she wanted to stay right here and explore. They were by god going to catch that third kitten.

After that, though, all bets were off.

[GO TO CHAPTER 91](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981876)


	20. Chapter 20

Spike peeled off a tenner to pay for the hideously-overpriced vanilla ice cream, making sure Buffy was watching when he stuffed the change in the tip jar, because while he didn’t give a good goddamn about the teen cashier’s well-being, he had learned some time ago that Buffy had Strong Opinions regarding tipping, and Buffy’s good opinion was something he did give a damn about.

And if he were totally honest, ten measly dollars was a small price to pay for the blissful look on Buffy’s face when she took her first taste of the soft-serve, her sweet pink tongue licking at the melting surface. But then he caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye, and sighed, nudging Buffy’s arm.

“There it goes,” he said, jerking his chin in the direction the black kitten was going.

They followed it to a huge ride that loomed over the carnival – one Spike recognized instantly.

Buffy frowned up at it. “Isn’t this a bit big for a traveling carnival?”

But Spike couldn’t help but rub his hands in anticipation. “Brilliant! It’s the Sky Whirl! Always wanted to ride this one.”

The ride had three huge arms, each of which supported a dozen carriages, solid at the bottom with a cage window circling the top half. Two were up in the air, circling slowly high above the carnival, while the carriages of the third rested on the ground for boarding. Eyes narrowed, Spike took Buffy’s hand and took her towards the attendant, peeling off tickets from his diminishing roll to pay for their ride.

Buffy looked at him askance as he tugged her towards the boarding area. “Aren’t we supposed to be catching a kitten?”

Spike grinned, breaking into a lope. “That we are, love. And here it is.”

He handed her into one of the cages, and there the black kitten sat, gazing at them in surprise. Spike pulled the carriage door shut behind him, latching it securely. “And now it can’t get away.” The attendant came by their carriage, checking the latch and moving on.

Buffy settled onto the round bench that ringed the carriage, sighing. “And neither can we.” They lifted off the ground then, their wheel starting to rotate slowly as the arm lifted up into the air.

Spike settled next to Buffy, putting his arm around her. The kitten was playing with some bit of fluff on the floor. “Thought I’d missed my chance for this ride,” he said, smiling. “One in Santa Clara closed before Dru and I made it out this way, and other one off in Illinois closed down last year.” He gazed out happily over the carnival. “Thought they’d been scrapped, but it seems they just went on the road.”

Buffy addressed herself to her melting ice cream, clearly suppressing another eyeroll. “Gosh, I’m so happy for you.”

“Bloody hell, Slayer, don’t you ever go to the cinema?” She looked at him blankly. “Wonderworld? Bloody Beverly Hills Cop III?”

She smiled at him indulgently. “I’m sure it was better than _Cats_ , and you wanted to see it again and again.”

Spike rolled his eyes right back. “Right then, Slayer. Eat your ice cream.”

“I think I shall,” she said primly, but she snuggled more comfortably into Spike’s side as she did so, and he tightened his arm around her, feeling bloody fantastic.

He felt even more fantastic a few minutes later, when Buffy took his hand and tucked it closer about her, sighing. “I do have to admit, this ride is nice and private.”

Spike nodded in agreement, pressing a light kiss to the top of her head.

“We could do almost anything in here, and no-one would ever know.”

“That we could, love.”

And then Buffy stopped being subtle and tugged his hand down to cover her breast.

She was still eating her ice cream, but Spike knew an order when he was given one, and he agreeably caressed her through her shirt, catching her pebbled nipple between his fingers, and then he brought his other hand over for her other breast – convenient, that, having two of each – and after a bit of that Buffy wriggled a little closer and Spike wrapped an arm around her waist and tugged her around until she was nestled between his legs, her perky arse snugged right up to his cock and her back tight against his front while he fondled and caressed her, and all the time she was methodically licking the drips off her ice cream, making little moans of pleasure and pulsing against him.

He was just about to slip his hands under her shirt to touch her warm, soft skin when she turned her head up to him, presenting the half-eaten ice cream cone.

“Want a taste?” she asked in a voice like Eve herself.

 

Does Spike want a taste?

Yes: [GO TO CHAPTER 63](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981024)

No thanks: [GO TO CHAPTER 89](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981807)


	21. Chapter 21

Buffy had just accepted the deep-fried Twinkie from the teenage cashier when Spike tugged at her arm.

“There it goes,” he said, pointing towards the carousel.

Sure enough, the calico kitten had leapt onto the slowly turning platform and was seated on one of the bench seats, placidly licking its paw. Buffy was about to vault over the fence when a familiar, grating voice froze her in place.

“There will be no line-cutting at my carousel, missy!”

Buffy turned in slow disbelief. “Principal Snyder?” And it _was_ Principal Snyder, looking just as sullen and ratlike as he had been at the Ferris Wheel, tugging officiously at his striped carny jacket. Which was pretty weird, but Buffy had to admit having multiple undead incarnations of Principal Snyder running the attractions at this very-obviously-evil carnival was no weirder than having just the one.

He glared at them, adjusting the trim of his straw boater. “You juvenile delinquents get in line and wait your turn.”

Buffy looked over at the empty line corral. “There is no line.”

“Of course there’s a line. Just because there’s no people waiting doesn’t mean you can just jump over the fence like hippies. You have to follow the proper procedures for getting on the ride…”

He looked like he was launching into a lecture, so Buffy rolled her eyes and dragged Spike to the line opening, where a creepy-looking clown on a sign declared they needed to be THIS TALL to ride the carousel, and back and forth along the path of the line, until finally they were standing in front of Principal Snyder. Up close, he was vaguely transparent.

“Tickets, please,” he said in a viciously bored voice.

Spike peeled two tickets off the roll they had acquired earlier and set them in Snyder’s outstretched hand, which seemed solid enough. He took the tickets and inspected each one suspiciously before unhooking the chain and allowing them in.

Buffy jumped onto the carousel and started winding through the horses towards the kitten’s bench as the ride started moving, calliope music blaring from the speakers. After she had taken just a few steps, though, the music cut out and was replaced by Snyder’s sneering voice.

“ _No walking on the carousel platform while the ride is in motion._ ” The aggressively-cheerful music resumed.

Spike came up beside her and shrugged. “What’s he going to do, send us to detention?”

Buffy frowned. The carousel had come back around to where she could see Snyder’s face, and something about his smug smile made her hesitate. “I don’t know,” she said reluctantly. “But I’m not sure I want to find out. There’s obviously something not right here, and until we know what it is…”

Spike rolled his eyes, but stopped walking, fixing gimlet eyes on the kitten’s bench in front of them. Buffy wrapped her free hand around one of the metal poles, regarding her deep-fried Twinkie. It looked cool enough to eat without burning her tongue now. She was about to take her first bite when the music cut out again.

“ _All riders on the carousel must be seated on an animal while the ride is in motion_.”

“Bugger that,” Spike muttered.

Buffy smirked at him sidelong. “I dunno. I kind of like the idea of you sitting on a pink pony.” She looked at Snyder’s face again as they passed by. “And I really don’t like that smile of his.”

With a long-suffering sigh, Spike set his basket on the wooden platform, glared at the bubble-gum pink unicorn beside him, then stuck his combat-booted foot in the shiny stirrup and slung his leg over like he was mounting a motorcycle. After a moment’s hesitation, he rested his hands on his thighs, fingers twitching with annoyance as the sparkly pink beast moved up and down. “Saddle up, Slayer,” he groused.

Buffy slipped onto her own horse, glittering lavender with blue roses in its carved curls of mane. It was weird riding a fake horse after getting to ride a real horse not all that long ago; she couldn’t help but compare the motion. The jerky rock of the carousel was almost harder to bear than her first foray into trotting – which thankfully had not lasted long, as Buffy’s horse hadn’t been the trotting sort. But whatever, they could deal with one round on the carousel, then snatch up the kitten and be on their way. In the meantime, she had a snack to enjoy.

She regarded the Twinkie from multiple angles before deciding to nibble delicately on one end. It was better than she’d expected, the breading crisp and the cake soft and moist, and she let out an involuntary _mmmmm_ of enjoyment.

Which was echoed from right beside her.

Startled, Buffy looked over to see Spike watching her with interest. “Shouldn’t you be keeping an eye on our fugitive?” she muttered self-consciously.

“Kitten’s not going anywhere,” he shrugged, twisting so he could rest his elbow on his pink unicorn’s head. “Rather watch you eat.”

Buffy narrowed her eyes. “And why is that?”

He lifted his eyebrows. “You really need to ask?”

She could feel her face turning red, but the deep-fried Twinkie was cooling fast, and it really was sinfully good. _Probably evil_ , she concluded, then took another nibble. _And evil sure tastes good._

Spike was still watching her, eyes amused, and she could feel her breathing accelerating, because really, it shouldn’t be possible to look like sex-on-a-stick when mounted on a pink wooden unicorn with glitter and roses, but there he was, and after all the kissing they’d done earlier, she was ready for more. And… they had decided this was a date, hadn’t they? Buffy had been single for a while, not really active on the dating scene, but she was starting to get the idea that this date wasn’t going to end with a chaste kiss at her door.

 _And why the hell should it?_ she thought suddenly. She was young and free and old enough to know what she wanted. And what she wanted right now…

She wanted to eat her Twinkie, that’s what she wanted. And she really, really wanted Spike to enjoy the show.

Watching him through her eyelashes, she took one delicate bite from the end of her Twinkie, and a second, swallowing each tidbit with an approving moan, until she could finally see the cream filling peeking out. She caught Spike’s eyes with hers as she delicately poked her tongue out for the tiniest taste of cream. It was warm and sugary, and Spike groaned in appreciation as she slowly took it into her mouth, letting it melt away.

She took another lick of cream, and another, delving her tongue in, and she felt all gooshy and warm and creamy herself, imagining Spike’s tongue against hers, because he was wicked through and through, wicked eyes and wicked hands and a wicked, wicked tongue, and now _she_ felt wicked, nibbling on the warm sponge cake and giving Spike meaningful looks like she was nibbling on him, and while at first she’d been making ecstatic sounds just to wind Spike up, she was feeling it herself now, she was gasping with the power of it rushing through her, shifting her hips minutely against the hard wooden saddle, and sucking cream and eating cake like she was starving. She caught bits of the cream on her fingertips and sucked it off, licked each fingertip, brushed her damp fingertips over her lips, scraped her teeth along her thumb, then more of the cake, right up to the last bits clinging to the stick, and then the Twinkie was gone and she was gasping desperately and looking at Spike, and he was looking at her like she was a goddess, naked and regal and glowing. Sex on a stick.

She felt suddenly lost.

As she was staring at him, the ride slowed and came to a stop.

“ _All riders must now exit the ride promptly. If you wish to ride again, you must first wait in line._ ” There was a pause, then a grudging. “ _Have a nice day._ ”

Buffy slid off her horse in Spike’s direction and he lunged in hers, and she was lifting her face up to take a taste when she caught a flicker of motion out of the corner of her eye. The kitten! It had leaped off the carousel platform and was frolicking after a butterfly. As she watched it gamboled into one of the nearby tents.

She grabbed Spike by the lapel of his duster and gave a yank. “It’s getting away!” She wended her way through the forest of wooden animals, leaving Spike behind.

He growled at her. “Bloody hell, Slayer…”

She sent him a teasing glance over her shoulder as she leaped off the platform. “You coming, Spike?” And oh, her voice sounded like a promise even to her, and his face as he stomped in her wake was like a vow, and she laughed and chased the kitten into the tent, knowing Spike would follow.

 

Which way did the kitten go?

Arcade: [GO TO CHAPTER 46](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20980652)

Sideshows: [GO TO CHAPTER 102](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982110)


	22. Chapter 22

Spike glowered at the sign in front of the animal enclosure the kitten had chosen as its hidey-hole _. Of course_ the kitten had chosen this, out of all the bloody places it could have hidden in.

Buffy stared at the sign for a moment as well, then shrugged. “We can take it.”

Spike stared at her in disbelief. “Really,” he said drily. “Your professional opinion is that we, you and I, can take on a bloody _tiger_.”

“It’s probably asleep,” Buffy said bracingly. “If it were awake, it would be out here looking all stripey and _rarr!_ instead of hiding out in that teensy little tent, right?”

“Probably.” Spike sighed. “I am beginning to think it might be easier to just go back to town and nick another bloody litter from the bloody animal shelter.”

“Nick?” Buffy frowned at him suddenly. “Spike, are these kittens stolen?”

“Not this lot,” Spike answered truthfully, grateful Buffy hadn’t been around for his last payment to questions the provenance of that batch. “Got ‘em from a mate in exchange for some videotapes. Not _those_ kind of videotapes,” he hastened to add, when she made a face. “They were, um…” Bloody hell, he was going to have to say it. “Knight Rider. So, about the tiger…”

With a wry look that said she hadn’t missed his confession – though Spike refused to be humiliated, he watched what he bloody well pleased – Buffy leaped over the high fence, motioning for Spike to follow. They approached the tent cautiously.

When they were finally right outside the tent flap, Buffy set her pretty jaw and gave him that look of hers, the one that said she meant business. “All right. You open the flap, and I’ll grab the kitten.”

“Got a better idea,” Spike shot back. “ _You_ open the flap, and _I’ll_ grab the kitten.”

She glared at him. “I thought we’d been through this. I’m the Slayer. I get first dibs on the action.”

“Bugger that, Slayer. Way I see it, the tiger’s either asleep or awake. If it’s asleep, the only action consists of capturing a bloody kitten. If it’s _awake_ – which is more and more likely the longer we natter on about it – the action is like to involve huge claws ripping through flesh. Now, which of us is more likely to survive that _action_?”

She stuck out her lower lip mutinously. “Unless it bites off your head.”

“Unless it bites off my head. And really, what are the chances…”

Buffy clapped her hand over his mouth. “Don’t say it!”

He tilted his head to a challenging angle, taking her hand in both of his. “I’m the obvious choice of target. Right?”

She nodded grouchily.

“So. On three. One… Two…”

She yanked open the tent flap and Spike lunged forward into…

A jungle.

He stopped in his tracks, glancing over his shoulder to see Buffy holding the tent flap open, gazing out in wonder. The lights of the carnival were visible behind her, but the tent itself… wasn’t there. Or wasn’t a tent; it was two flaps of canvas hanging from a sturdy wooden frame, canvas and frame both painted with arcane symbols. It was the only sign of civilization; the jungle itself was lush and fragrant and humid, huge leaves and vines and tall, twisted trees covered in moss.

“Don’t come through!” Spike cautioned, scanning the undergrowth around him. “If it’s a portal, no telling how stable the bloody thing is. I’ll fetch the kitten.” Buffy murmured something that sounded like agreement as he started his search.

And he didn’t have to look long; the black kitten was crouched low to the ground just the next clearing over, shivering and rigid.

“There you are,” Spike crooned, scooping it up. “And not a sign of…”

The tiger burst out of the bushes, huge paws slashing, Spike barely managing to tumble away.

“Buggerbuggerbuggerbuggerbugger…” he chanted as he raced for the portal, the kitten clutched to his chest; Buffy’s eyes were huge and terrified watching him come, and she stepped out of view, holding the tent flap wide as he barreled through, the tiger hot on his heels.

He veered left, away from Buffy, risking the barest glance to make sure the beast hadn’t switched targets – it hadn’t, and _bugger_ it was huge! – before leaping with all his strength, clearing the fence and landing clumsily on the other side, momentum sending him rolling.

 _Buffy!_ he thought, panicking, but when he turned back to the cage, the tiger was prowling along the far side of the bars, still snarling at him, and Buffy was on the near side, running towards him, hair streaming behind her, and _god_ she was a beautiful sight, and when she fell to her knees beside him he just reached up and sank his hand into that hair and kissed her, hard and deep; she was safety and danger and life, and he drank it all in.

He kept a tight hold of the black kitten, because bugger if he was going through that again, and when he could think again, he took Buffy’s hand and let her haul him up to standing, retrieving his basket and tucking his captive securely inside.

Buffy was looking at the tiger – still sulkily stalking around the perimeter of its enclosure, glaring at them balefully – and she suddenly laughed. “Gotta be nice for the tiger,” she said. “It doesn’t live in a cage at all. It has a whole jungle to wander around in, and the carnival is, like, its veranda.”

“Yeah, lucky for the tiger,” Spike muttered.

“No, it’s really nice,” Buffy said earnestly, looking up at him. “You hear stories, you know, about how terrible animals in captivity get treated sometimes. That’s why we went all the way up the coast to sell the horses.” She looked down, blushing gorgeously. “I did a whole bunch of research on the internet, y’know? Found a place that has a nice farm for the horses to run around on when they’re not onstage. High marks from all the animal rights organizations.” She frowned pensively. “Except that one, but they’re… kinda fringey.”

Spike didn’t give a good goddamn about the horses’ bloody habitat, but it was bleeding adorable how much Buffy cared. And god knew he’d take any excuse to kiss Buffy again. So he did.

The next time Buffy needed to come up for air, she gave him a tight, hard hug and stepped away.

“We got the kitten,” she said, voice determinedly normal.

Spike inhaled, then exhaled, then nodded. “That we did.” He reluctantly released her, settling his duster about his shoulders. “Right, then.”

They collected the basket and headed back to the entrance.

[GO TO CHAPTER 3](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20978696)


	23. Chapter 23

The zebra enclosure had a high fence, but Buffy didn’t even pause before vaulting over, landing lightly on the packed dirt. Spike leapt after her, leaving his basket behind. The two or three zebras wandering the area glanced up disinterestedly before returning to grazing on the ample hay.

The tent was small; now that they were right up on it, it didn’t seem big enough to hold more than two zebras, and then only if they were very, very friendly.

Buffy shook out her hands, wiggling her fingers in preparation. “All right. The kitten doesn’t have anywhere to go. You get the tent flap, I’ll get the kitten, and we’ll hit the road.”

“Righty-ho.” Spike pulled open the flap of the tent and saw…

Stars.

Instead of the interior of a tent, the tent flap opened on a cool night scene, tall grasses and scrubby trees and mounded rocks shading a smooth pond that reflected the moon and stars. A breeze redolent of musky animals and green growing things teased at the canvas flap, sending ripples along the surface of the water, and he felt his jaw drop open.

“Bloody hell,” he whispered.

“Oh.” Buffy’s voice was soft and awed, and she started to step forward onto the grassy savanna.

“Wait,” Spike said, but it was too late, she was already out knee-deep in grass, turning in a slow circle.

“Look at all the stars,” she said, eyes shining in the moonlight, and Spike threw caution to the wind and stepped out with her. He glanced behind him and saw the outside of a tent just like the one they had just entered, staked out in a little clearing.

“I’m looking,” he agreed, but he was only looking at her – he’d seen skies like this in his travels, unmuted by the lights of industrial cities, but he’d never seen anything like Buffy looking at a sky like this.

Now that he was out in the silent wilderness, he realized he could hear… hoofbeats. Hundreds of hoofbeats, pounding like thunder on the ground, and he took Buffy by the arms and dragged her towards the rocks.

“What are you doing?” she grumbled.

“Trust me, Slayer,” he murmured, pulling her up to the top of the rocks just as a huge herd of zebras came thundering past the pond, parting like the Red Sea around their island rock.

Buffy clutched at him, laughing in surprise, and then she tilted her face up to his, and the hoofbeats were like a heartbeat pounding in his ears – oh, he remembered that feeling, when his heart used to beat! – and he bent his lips down to hers. It wasn’t the first time he’d kissed her, or the second, but god it always felt new, every time, the way her breath caught and her lips trembled and her eyelids fluttered closed, and he closed his own eyes, and savored his ersatz heartbeat mingling with hers, and felt alive.

_Meow!_

He disentangled one hand and reached out to catch the calico kitten from the branch where it had sought shelter, still kissing Buffy, and tucked the kitten into his pocket, setting his hand atop it to keep it from escaping while he savored his moment. It bizarrely started to purr.

Eventually he surfaced to realize the herd had long since passed and the kitten’s purring had settled into sleepiness, and Buffy was looking up at him with serious eyes. She turned away to watch the zebra herd as it galloped away.

“It’s nice,” she said suddenly. “The zebras don’t live in a cage at all. They’ve got a whole savanna to gallop around in, and the carnival is, like, their veranda.”

“Yeah, lucky them,” Spike muttered.

“No, it’s really nice,” Buffy said earnestly, looking up at him. “You hear stories, you know, about how terrible animals in captivity get treated sometimes. That’s why we went all the way up the coast to sell the horses.” She looked down, blushing gorgeously. “I did a whole bunch of research on the internet, y’know? Found a place that has a nice farm for the horses to run around on when they’re not onstage. High marks from all the animal rights organizations.” She frowned pensively. “Except that one, but they’re… kinda fringey.”

Spike didn’t give a good goddamn about the horses’ bloody habitat, but it was bleeding adorable how much Buffy cared. And god knew he’d take any excuse to kiss Buffy again. So he did.

Eventually, though, Buffy needed to come up for air, and she gave him a tight, hard hug and stepped away, looking around quizzically.

“I could have sworn I heard the kitten,” she frowned.

“Oh. Yeah. Nabbed it already,” Spike said sheepishly.

“Oh.” She looked up at the stars, then at him, sighing. “I guess we should head back, then. Check in with the guys.” She looked around, then started picking her way down from the boulder.

Spike shrugged in acknowledgment and started to follow, only to be taken by surprise when she turned and kissed him again, urgently, knocking him off-balance for a moment.

“Sorry,” she said when they were done. “The stars, y’know?”

“Yeah,” he said shakily. “Stars.”

He followed her down the rock and out of the tent and over the fence, until he could tuck the sleeping calico kitten securely into its basket. Buffy watched him, nodding shortly when the deed was done.

They headed off to the entrance.

[GO TO CHAPTER 55](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20980844)


	24. Chapter 24

Ben sipped at his Diet Coke, annoyed.

The mental ward was filling up again, twice as fast as it had before, so it seemed like Glory had picked up the pace – and he could tell she was growing stronger, because he was losing more time. Just the other day, he’d barely made his shift, coming back to himself halfway across town in a red silk cocktail dress with just twenty minutes to get to the hospital, and to top it all off he’d twisted his ankle with his first few steps in the ridiculous shoes Glory insisted on wearing. If he hadn’t taken to stashing extra scrubs in the trunk of his car, he’d have lost his job.

The scabby minions had gotten more demanding as well, getting in his face constantly with their timelines and their “humble requests” (that were actually demands) and their aggressive toadying. It had gotten so the only way he could get any peace was to come to places like this, where there were too many humans for an obvious nonhuman to enter.

The door crashed open, and a troll walked in.

_Dammit._

The troll was…well, being a troll… and the patrons of the Bronze were looking at him as if he were no more unusual than a snockered frat boy – there was a certain resemblance – and Ben tried to circle around to get to the door, but then the troll started yelling at some people who had just come in the door (was that Buffy Summers?) and that blocked the way out pretty thoroughly, so Ben found a nice safe place under the mezzanine to wait out the troll incursion.

He was going to have to find a different place to hang out on Fridays.

But then the troll started smashing things, and some of the Bronze guests suddenly realized _oh hey, troll!_ and started running and screaming, and one of them knocked Ben down. The sound of things being smashed was ringing in his ears as he staggered to his feet, looking around for the nearest avenue of escape.

That was when he realized the troll had been methodically smashing the supports for the balcony right over his head.

He didn’t even have time to look up before a steel girder crushed his skull.

*

“What are you doing?”

Spike looked up at Buffy. “Making this woman more comfortable. I’m not—“

“Oh no!” Buffy interrupted, looking just past him. “Ben!”

Spike followed her gaze. “Yeah. That bloke… He was right under it when it came down. Never even had a chance.”

Buffy’s face crumpled like she was going to cry, and Spike finished tucking the makeshift cushion under the injured woman’s head – god, the smell of blood was driving him mad, but he wasn’t going to start licking people right in front of Buffy, no matter how wasteful it all was – and stood, going to her side. She had set her jaw, and her eyes were resolute, but her chin was all puckered, and her lips were trembling.

God, he wished he could kiss them.

“’M sorry,” Spike finally murmured instead. “Knew the fellow, did you?”

“From the hospital,” she said softly. “He helped me when…” She shook herself then, brow knitting. “I think I need to go kill myself a troll.” She turned and ran out the door.

With a final glance at the snack bar scattered all over the floor, Spike followed.

Watching Buffy kill a troll was better than secondhand blood any day.

*

“How did it happen?”

Doc glared at the pathetic, revolting creatures that had failed their goddess, the worms of their home dimension, filth he wouldn’t even speak to if he didn’t need answers.

One of them – Dreg? – stepped forward obsequiously. “We do not know, sir. Ben departed for his, er, _night out_ in good health and spirits. There were no signs of danger, but of course we all felt her death as a stab to the heart.”

“We have begun preparations for her funeral procession,” offered another. “Gronx has begun sewing the banners, each perfect stitch watered with her tears…”

“We suspect…” This scabrous creature was wise enough to avert his eyes. “We suspect the Slayer may have been involved. She was seen leaving the establishment where Ben’s body was discovered.”

“The Slayer.” Doc smiled genially. “Well, perhaps we should go pay the Slayer a visit.”

“We do not know where she resides, sir.”

“Find out.”

*

Buffy set her bag down on the hall table, sighing. Today’s trials had been depressing, and she dreaded what would come at seven, when they started asking questions, especially after she’d failed the fighting part of the test.

The fighting part was what she was _good_ at.

“Mom?”

The house smelled kinda musty, and she frowned as she headed into the living room. Was something leaking in the kitchen? Or maybe the drain in the basement had backed up.

Or, she amended when a blade came at her neck, maybe there were some icky demons lying in wait to ambush her in her own home.

There were six of them at least, short and mottled, with stringy hair and black robes and they came at her all at once, which worried her for a second until she realized they kinda sucked at fighting; it didn’t take her long before she’d beaten them back into the corner.

They glared up at her with beady black eyes, panting with exertion and pain. “Kill us, then,” one of them demanded. “If we cannot have our revenge, then let us at least have sweet oblivion.”

“Revenge for what? I don’t think we’ve ever even met.”

“Glory!” another one spat out. “You took her from us, her faithful worshippers.”

A third one wailed, long and drawn out. “Oh, what shall we do now that our only purpose in life is gone?”

“Um, take up yoga?” Buffy folded her arms impatiently. “I think I’d remember if I killed Glory.”

“Coward!” the first minion shouted. “You did not have the strength to face her in her true magnificence. No, you shamefully struck at her host, who was but a frail human.”

“Oh, Ben, Ben!” moaned another – a female, from the sound of the voice. “Why did you go where this vile woman could lay her foul hands upon you?”

“Ben?” Buffy blinked. “Ben was Glory?”

The minions fell silent, looking at each other nervously, then one of them shrugged. “I suppose now there is no point in maintaining secrecy. Yes, Ben was the worm in our apple, the anchovy on our pizza, the…”

God, did these guys ever stop talking? “I didn’t kill Ben.”

“But you were there…”

“I was there. So was a troll. Troll killed Ben, I beat up troll, troll go bye bye.”

“Then… you have avenged us?” The hostility in their eyes had turned to something like gratitude, which was really, really creepy.

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Not so much. Now look, I know you are kind of going through a rough time, but I have a test tonight I kind of need to cram for. Could you just… go?”

They went.

*

“Glory’s not a demon. She’s a god.” Travers looked at Buffy significantly, waiting for to react to his mic drop.

“Oh.” Buffy grinned. “Yeah, I forgot to mention something. Apparently, Glory is dead.”

In the ensuing silence, she pushed to her feet. “So sorry you had to come all this way. Giles?”

“…Yes, Buffy?” he said faintly.

“Make sure you get these guys a cancelled check so the Watcher’s Council HR Department can get your direct deposit set up.” She patted Travers on the shoulder. “Have a nice flight!”

*

Buffy stroked Dawn’s hair back from her forehead. It had been a terrible couple of days – Dawn finding out about her Keyness, the tantrums and screaming and finally searching for her in the night, only to be ambushed by the Knights of Byzantium in the park. She and Spike had fought them off, but then she’d finally found Dawn crying on the swings, and convincing her that she belonged, no matter how she’d ended up with them, that she was a Summers…. It had taken a lot out of her.

“Will she stay?” Her mom was standing in the doorway of the bedroom. “She’s not going to… I don’t know, fade away?”

“I don’t think so.” Buffy gave Dawn’s sleeping forehead a light kiss, joining her mother in the hallway. “I think… I think the magic that brought her to us, it wasn’t the kind to just disappear. It had to be permanent to work at all, you know?”

“But then, if Glory’s gone, why won’t these men, the Knights of wherever, why won’t they leave us alone?”

“They didn’t believe me,” Buffy shrugged. “But… they don’t know it’s Dawn. We’ll figure out a way to convince them.”

“And if you don’t?”

“I won’t let them have her,” she said fiercely, peeking in at Dawn again.

_No matter what._

*

Buffy stopped just outside Spike’s crypt, taking a deep breath. She had to do it, she had to just… walk in there and tell him that there was no way, no possible way it could ever, ever, _ever_ happen, that she would never have feelings for him and he needed to just stay away from her and….

Why was she having trouble taking those last few steps?

The door was cracked open, though, and now that she was right outside, she could hear voices. Not everything they were saying, but bits and pieces.

“…You broke my sweet boo-boo’s heart!” God, was that _Harmony?_ It sure sounded like it – Buffy couldn’t understand whatever she said next, but she recognized that taunting tone of voice, and then she heard Spike’s voice, clear as a bell.

“Harm, it’s been fun, but I think it’s time you toddled off.”

There was something else, all teary, but then Buffy heard running feet, and she stepped off to the side just as Harmony came barreling out the door, weeping, running off into the night. She stepped closer, silently.

“Come with me,” said a haunting voice that Buffy recognized with a shiver as Drusilla. “You need to feed.” Oh god, that must be who was responsible for the train murders, she had to…. She forced herself to stand still and listen.

“I can’t, love,” Spike said, sounding sad. “It’s not just the pain, it’s…. I’ve changed.”

“So you have, dear boy. But I can change you back. We can play our little games…”

“No, Dru.” His voice was stronger now. “I can’t go with you. I… I won’t.”

There was a high whine, like a puppy whimpering.

“She trusts me,” Spike said. “Not… not with everything, but she trusts me to fight, and to protect her mum and her kid sis, and I… I’m staying.”

The whine intensified into a whimper. “My poor boy. What has she done to you? You’re all made of lies.”

“She’s done nothing,” Spike said harshly. “Stay away from her.”

“Won’t run into the sun,” Drusilla said, sounding pouty. “That’s for foolish boys and paper dolls.”

Spike sighed harshly. “Leave,” he said. “Before she finds out you’re here. Can’t go with you, but… if you stay, you’ll end up dust. By her hand or mine.”

“Poor Spike.” There was a rustling, fabric or leaves. “Even I can’t save you now.”

Buffy waited and waited for Drusilla to come out the door – stake ready – but she didn’t come, and then she heard the sound of stone on stone from inside and realized there must be some other entrance, which was both a relief and a disappointment, and then she heard the sound of the television, clinking glass, and then Spike’s voice, muttering.

“Bloody women.”

She stood there for a moment more, thinking, then ran off.

The convenience store just outside the cemetery had a pay phone; she dug out some change and dialed.

“Mom? Can you get Willow?”

After a bit, Willow picked up. “Buffy, I’m almost done with the…”

“Cancel it.”

“…What?”

“Just… don’t do the spell.”

“But Spike…”

“Trust me, it’s… He’s not going to be a problem.”

And Buffy hung up the phone, hoping that she hadn’t just made a terrible mistake.

*

Buffy sneaked another glance out at the armed fighters surrounding their rickety gas station haven. God, these guys just never gave up, did they? She cast her weary glance around the room. Willow and Tara were chanting together, keeping the barrier up. Xander, Anya, and Dawn were conversing in hushed whispers against one of the interior walls. And Spike…. She frowned. Spike was standing next to the counter where they’d lain Giles, blocking her view.

She stalked over. “What are you doing?”

“Just putting a little more pressure on.” He glanced up at her, eyes hooded. “Not exactly used to trying to keep it in a person, but at least I know how the bloody stuff works. Blood, that is.”

Buffy slipped her hand into Giles’s, nudging Spike aside. “Any change?”

Spike grimaced down at the wadded-up curtain he was pressing into Giles’s stomach. “None, and you should be bloody grateful for that fact, Slayer. You and I both know that what the watcher needs is a hospital. Longer we’re trapped in here, thinner his chances get.”

“Yeah, well, the guys with the pointy swords have other ideas. They only agreed to allow medical help in, not to let us out.” She squeezed Giles’s hand, wishing he would at least squeeze back instead of just… lying there trembling.

Spike snorted in exasperation. “Could make a break for —”

Buffy interrupted, anxiety making her voice sharp. “And what, tuck Giles into a backpack until we can put him back together? We can’t run with him like this.” She gulped back a sob. There wasn’t time for tears now.

Spike looked at her silently for a long moment, long enough that it made her uncomfortable, and she focused on his bandaged hands. “I can… I can do that,” she said eventually. “You go… I dunno. Glower intimidatingly at our hostage or something.”

“All right,” he muttered, shrugging. “I’ll just bugger off then.”

“It’s not…” Buffy began, then sighed. “I just want some… some time alone with him.” She tucked her hands in under Spike’s, taking over the pressure. His fingers brushed the backs of her hands as he withdrew, hands going in his duster pockets. “…Spike?”

“Yeah?” He had fumbled a pack of cigarettes out and was glaring at it.

“Thanks,” she whispered.

He acknowledged it with a nod and a flare of his eyelids before striding off into the back.

Buffy sighed, watching him go. She still wasn’t sure she’d done the right thing, letting Spike into her circle, but so far it hadn’t led to terrible disaster, which was something. She just… didn’t know what to do. One minute he’d be fighting by her side, totally useful and dependable, and the next he’d be… well, ordering the creeptastic robot was the only thing she could really think of, but it was really, really creepy. Then again, he’d also stood up to the torture the Knights of Byzantium had inflicted on him without revealing Dawn’s identity, and then he’d come through for their strategic retreat, and…. Well. She didn’t know what to do.

And she didn’t have time for it now.

*

Spike nipped a Marlboro out of the pack and let it dangle from his lips while he fumbled his Zippo out. Grabbing that bloody sword had seemed like a brilliant idea at the time, when it had been heading straight for Buffy’s head, and then he sure as bloody hell hadn’t been about to let go once he’d already dived off that cliff of clever decisions, but that final slash had ripped through tendons, and now his (figuratively _and_ literally) bloody fingers weren’t working properly.

And, well, he hadn’t done it for the praise – hadn’t had time to think about it at all – but it would’ve been nice to get a bit more than the terse _they’ll heal_ Buffy had tossed out before getting back to business. Though he had to admire her focus. Whatever her faults, Buffy bloody well knew how to win.

He was struggling to operate the lighter when Xander came up and took it right out of his hand.

Spike half expected the boy to set him on fire then and there, but instead he held it out expectantly, so with a muttered “Thanks,” Spike let Xander light him up, taking a deep breath of nicotine. Didn’t help the pain, of course, but it did make him feel a bit more himself.

“You know, those things’ll kill you,” Xander said, tucking the lighter in his own pocket. Spike glared at him, and he had either the grace or the self-preservation instinct to smile wryly. “Oh. Right.”

They stood side by side for a while, leaning up against the wall.

Finally, Xander looked over again. “I mention today how much I don’t like you?” His voice was oddly companionable – not friendly, but not antagonistic either.

“You mighta let it slip in… once or twice.”

Xander smiled faintly, then nodded towards Spike’s bandaged hands.

“How’re your feelers?”

Spike could feel a rant bubbling up inside him – _god_ , he hated being boxed in! – but he made himself shrug. “Nothing compared to what the watcher’s going through.”

Xander was silent for a long moment, then held out his hand. “Gimme.”

Spike stared at it. “And just what am I giving you? Already snaffled my lighter – don’t think I didn’t notice.”

“The cigarette. I’m over eighteen, I’m legal to smoke.” Eyebrows raised, Spike held out the half-smoked Marlboro; Xander took it between two fingers and regarded it for a moment before taking a deep drag.

Spike snagged the cigarette back before Xander could drop it in the ensuing coughing fit. “You know, those things’ll kill you,” he grinned nastily before inhaling. Xander nodded between coughs, eyes streaming and face red.

“All you need do is give up the Key, you know,” the bloke chained to the post said.

“Not gonna happen, mate,” Spike replied firmly. “’Sides, what do you lot want with the Key? What with Glory being dead and all.”

The knight stared at them for a long moment. “The Beast is not dead,” he said at last. “Our seers would have—“

“Slayer’s been telling you for weeks,” Spike interrupted. “Did your bloody seers bother to follow up on that?”

Buffy’s voice came from the doorway. “Seriously, don’t you guys talk to each other? I told Domingo, and I told… what’s-his-face? Mario? The one who kidnapped Tara.”

“Marisco.”

“And I told _you_ at least three times. It took Giles, like, five minutes to cast a spell that confirmed she was dead. Are your so-called seers actually doing _anything_?”

The hostage bowed his head. “Release me, and I shall… consult with them.”

Spike lifted an eyebrow at Buffy, and she gave a sharp nod; he pushed off the wall and went to untie the knight, prepared in case he chose to attack. He couldn’t bloody well fight the bloke, but he could at least get in the way, take on a bit of a migraine for the team.

But the knight walked peaceably to the door – Willow and Tara managed to open a doorway in their magickal shield for him to depart – and shortly thereafter, Buffy heard a loud call of horns outside, followed by a bellowed message.

Buffy frowned. “They want to party? That’s a really weird thing to do in the middle of a siege.”

“Parley,” Spike sighed. “They want to talk.”

With a roll of her eyes, Buffy took hold of his sleeve. “Ugh. If they want to talk so much, why use French? I couldn’t even speak French when I was studying it, much less now.” She tugged him towards the door. “Let’s get this over with.”

*

Buffy glared at Gregor, who was flanked by the two bearded weirdos in robes – why did people getting their ritual on wear robes all the time, anyhow? Was it just for the ambiance, or did they actually need the airflow for good spell conduction? She would have to ask Willow later.

One of the Gandalf-wannabes bowed his head, expression faintly embarrassed. “We have had a vision. The Beast is dead.”

Buffy raised her eyebrows. “Oh, you had a _vision_ , did you? Tell me, did that vision come before or after the fifty times I told you that very thing?”

Gregor managed a grudging nod. “The Knights of Byzantium apologize for the inconvenience.” With another bow, they turned and walked away.

Buffy stared after them. “That was anticlimactic.” She looked at Spike doubtfully. “You think I could hit them up for a ride back to town?”

But then there was a commotion on the outskirts of the camp, and Buffy looked over to see… a parade? No, a procession of those little scabby guys of Glory’s, dozens of them, bearing black and red banners embroidered with images of Glory in a variety of poses – Buffy had to admit, the bubble bath one was lovely – and that was all she had time to notice before the Knights of Byzantium were rushing into battle.

“We joining in?” Spike asked eagerly.

Buffy folded her arms and regarded the melee. “No, I don’t think we’ve got a stake in this one.” She nudged him. “See what I did there?”

He rolled his eyes. “Bloody hilarious, you are.”

“However,” Buffy continued, “I do see a whole bunch of horses, just hanging out over there. And I think the Knights of Byzantium owe us a little… restitution, don’t you?”

Spike grinned back. “Seems only fair.”

*

It took a while to get everyone mounted – Willow, despite her insistence earlier that the horsies not be hurt, was terrified and needed some convincing just to approach them, and Buffy herself was a bit at sea, having not been in a saddle since that birthday party with the pony rides when she was eight. But Anya and Spike both copped to having experience, and after the obligatory amount of fuss and fear and falling off, eventually they all managed to get astride and headed in the direction of town. Buffy had wanted to carry Giles herself, but she didn’t think it was a good idea when she was having so much trouble just convincing her horse to go straight, and so she had carefully lifted Giles up to Spike; they were riding now at the front of their little herd. Buffy watched them constantly, worried at every twitch Giles made, and wondering.

When they were about halfway back to Sunnydale, Buffy managed to convince her horse to speed up a little, to catch up to Spike. “How do you know how to ride a horse?”

Spike glared at Buffy, shifting Giles cautiously in his arms. “I’ll have you know I have an excellent seat.”

Buffy glanced at Spike’s butt, resting in the weird medieval-y saddle, and even annoyed as she was that he hadn’t actually answered her question, she couldn’t help but think that he was _so_ right.

 

[GO TO CHAPTER 108](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982200)

 


	25. Chapter 25

Buffy accepted the Belgian Waffle from the cashier, trying not to panic at just how… _huge_ it was.

 _It has fruit,_ she reassured herself. _That makes it nutritious, right? Never mind the carbs and the syrup and the big old mound of whipped cream…_

Spike eyed the waffle with interest. “How are you supposed to eat that?”

Buffy proffered a tiny plastic fork.

“Right.”

Buffy had just managed to carve off her first bit of waffle – scooping it onto her fork with a smidgen of fruit and a touch of whipped cream, when Spike’s head jerked up, like a panther on the prowl.

“There it is!”

Buffy turned to see the calico kitten’s patchy tail disappearing inside the door to the Cliffhanger. Buffy stuffed the fork into the center of her waffle and wound her free fingers in Spike’s and dashed after it, only to be brought up short at the door when a cane whipped out to block her path.

“Nobody gets on my ride without a ticket, missy!”

The familiar voice sent shivers up Buffy’s spine, and she slowly turned to face its owner, a short, balding man in a red-and-white striped jacket and a flat straw boater hat.

“Principal Snyder?” Buffy could feel her mouth falling open, but, really, what the hell?

Snyder gave her a dismissive once-over, resting his hands before him on the knob of his cane. “Miss Summers. Should have known a delinquent like you would end up here on a school night.”

“But you’re… didn’t the Mayor eat you?” She glanced at Spike, who was watching them like they were an episode of _Passions_. “I _knew_ this carnival was evil!”

Snyder gave her a poisonous glare, then held out his hand. “Tickets, please.”

Buffy blinked. “We don’t have any tickets.”

With a malicious grin, Snyder stepped between her and the open door. “I’m afraid you can’t get on the ride without tickets. There’s a booth over there. Go purchase some, and then once you’ve done that, go stand in line and wait your turn.” He swept her with a scornful glance. “Not that I’m surprised to add line-jumping to your incredibly long list of crimes and infractions.”

Buffy considered pointing out that there wasn’t any line to jump – the ride seemed to be deserted – but she was pretty sure arguing with Snyder was a waste of time that could be better spent on… the kitten! Buffy looked over Snyder’s shoulder at the kitten, sitting smugly in the very center of the round room. Maybe she could…

Snyder’s hand fell on her arm, and it felt… not right. “I wouldn’t if I were you, Summers,” he said in a quiet, satisfied voice. The kind of voice that was a dare. And looking at his faintly glowing eyes, feeling the unnatural strength of his hand…. Well, ghost or zombie or whatever, Buffy was sure she could still kick his ass, but she was the one who’d insisted on not raising a fuss.

And what the hell, it was Spike’s supposedly-legitimately-earned money.

She grabbed Spike’s sleeve. “Come on. You’re buying.”

*

One overpriced roll of tickets later, Buffy and Spike were back at the front of the line. Snyder accepted their tickets gingerly, as if they were covered in mud, then whipped his cane up to block the doorway again.

“No food on the ride.”

Buffy looked helplessly at the massive amount of waffle remaining on her plate. She hated to just dump it in the trash. Wouldn’t Spike be insulted? “Not wanting to insult Spike” was a feeling she wasn’t used to, but… she was pretty sure it was real.

Snyder looked maliciously at his watch. “Ride goes in exactly seventy-five seconds. If you aren’t in the door by then, you forfeit your tickets.”

Oh god, tickets that Spike had just bought her. Wouldn’t that be an insult, too? Wasting the tickets? But which insult was worse? Tickets or waffle?

 _Oh, screw it._ Buffy started shoveling forkfuls of waffle into her mouth.

Snyder avidly counted down for her. “Sixty seconds… fifty… forty… thirty…”

He had just reached ten when she swallowed the very last bite of waffle. “Okay. No food left. Let us in.”

Snyder stepped aside grudgingly.

Buffy made a beeline straight for the kitten, snatching it up.

“All right! Now, let’s find the other two…”

She turned to head out the door, only to find it had closed behind them.

Snyder’s voice came over the loudspeaker. “ _All passengers on the Cliffhanger must take their places up against the wall._ ” There was an ominous pause, then he snickered. “ _Or else._ ”

Spike lifted an eyebrow, standing right where he was. “Or else what?” he muttered.

Buffy shivered, thinking of the feeling she’d gotten from Snyder’s hand. “I’m not sure I want to find out.” She grinned. “Besides, you know you’ve always wanted me up against the wall.”

Spike looked at her for a long moment, then spun and planted his back sullenly against the round room’s wall. Buffy giggled and settled next to him, curling the kitten protectively into her chest while her free hand sought out Spike’s.

The room started to spin, slowly at first, then faster and faster, until the centrifugal force was pressing them tight into the wall. Buffy turned her head to look at Spike, laughing, and he tilted his head down to meet her, and as the floor dropped away their lips met, a sweet promise.

Except… Oh. It was starting to feel less sweet. Buffy turned away from Spike as she tasted bile rising up in the back of her throat.

The ride went on and on, longer than Buffy thought it was supposed to; she clutched at Spike with one hand and the yowling kitten with the other, and when the ride finally slowed, the floor rising up to meet them, Buffy didn’t even wait for the ride to come to a full and complete stop before she was staggering for the door, then out the door and down the stairs and over to a trashcan and… Well. Was vomiting up the Belgian waffle Spike had bought her a bigger insult than throwing it away would have been?

When the heaving stopped, she realized Spike was beside her, one hand holding her hair away from her face, the other gently rubbing her lower back.

“All right, love?” he said gently.

She nodded blearily, accepting the napkin he proffered. “Where’s the kitten?”

“Gone,” he shrugged. “Don’t worry about the loan shark. I’ll come up with a cunning plan later. Maybe just stake a few of his flunkies.”

“Okay.” Buffy stood up straight, regretting it almost instantly as the movement set her heaving again.

Spike held her hair again, then when she was done escorted her to a bench and fetched her some water, but even after that, she felt ill.

“Stupid evil carnival,” she grumbled.

Spike sighed. “Fancy a ride home?”

Buffy knew she should stick around, get to the bottom of the evil here, but… just thinking about it was nauseating. “Yeah,” she said grudgingly.

And so Buffy and Spike drove queasily off into the night, leaving the secrets of the carnival behind them, unsolved.

THE END

 

Would you like to try again? [Go to Chapter 1!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20978552)

[Read the Author’s Notes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20983016)


	26. Chapter 26

The fence surrounding the lion enclosure wasn’t all that high, but the area of the paddock that butted up to the fence was deeper than the main thoroughfare, with a moat surrounding it. Buffy didn’t even pause before vaulting over, landing lightly on the packed dirt. Spike leapt after her, leaving his basket behind. Oddly, he didn’t see a single lion.

“Remind me why we’re entering the lion’s den?” he muttered as they approached the tent.

“So you don’t get your head bitten off,” she whispered back.

“Beginning to suspect this might be a bit counterproductive.” Kittens were easy to acquire; heads, not so much.

The tent was small; now that they were right up on it, it didn’t seem big enough to hold more than two lions, and then only if they were very, very friendly. Spike frowned, scanning the enclosure again: dirt and moat and a few rocks for basking, but he didn’t see a single animal.

“Slayer, I am a mite concerned over the lack of animals in this animal habitat.”

Buffy frowned. “Yeah. It does seem a bit deserted.”

“Maybe they’re asleep,” he said doubtfully.

“Maybe.” She set her pretty jaw and gave him that look of hers, the one that said she meant business. “All right. You open the flap, and I’ll grab the kitten.”

 “Or, if it’s awake, kick the lion in the face,” Spike suggested. “Before any heads – or, for that matter, limbs – get bitten off.”

“Or kick the lion in the face,” Buffy agreed. “On the count of three. One… Two…”

Spike pulled open the flap of the tent and saw…

Stars.

Instead of the heap of sleeping lions he had hoped for – or the snarling, grouchy lions he had feared – the tent flap opened on a cool night scene, tall grasses and scrubby trees and mounded rocks shading a smooth pond that reflected the moon and stars. A breeze redolent of musky animals and green growing things teased at the canvas flap, sending ripples along the surface of the water, and he felt his jaw drop open.

“Bloody hell,” he whispered.

“Oh.” Buffy’s voice was soft and awed, and she started to step forward onto the grassy savanna.

“Wait,” Spike said, but it was too late, she was already out knee-deep in grass, turning in a slow circle.

“Look at all the stars,” she said, eyes shining in the moonlight, and Spike threw caution to the wind and stepped out with her. He glanced behind him and saw the outside of a tent just like the one they had just entered, staked out in a little clearing.

“I’m looking,” he agreed, but he was only looking at her – he’d seen skies like this in his travels, unmuted by the lights of industrial cities, but he’d never seen anything like Buffy looking at a sky like this.

Now that he was out in the silent wilderness, he realized he could hear… heartbeats. Dozens of heartbeats, slower and deeper than humans, and he looked around and realized a number of the mounded rocks surrounding the pool… weren’t rocks.

“Slayer,” he said in a low, even voice. “I found the lions.”

Buffy looked around slowly; he could tell the moment she realized they were surrounded because her heartrate shot up. God, he could hear everything out here.

“Crap,” Buffy whispered. “We need to find that kitten and split.”

Spike was about to roll his eyes and ask how they were supposed to find a kitten wandering around in a knee-high field of grass, but then he saw it, batting playfully at a grass stem near the pool. “Keep watch, I’ll nab it.”

He crept up on the kitten as silently as he could manage, well aware that he risked not only spooking his prey but also wakening the deadly predators surrounding him. Another situation in which not needing to breathe was a distinct advantage. Closer and closer he stalked, laser-focused on his goal, and finally…. Ah. He was within reach. He gauged the distance, waited for his moment, and…

“Gotcha, y’ little bugger,” he muttered as he caught the calico kitten by the scruff of the neck. It let out a surprised _meow!_ but he curled it right into his chest, muffling its distress under his duster, and turned to leave.

And then Buffy gasped.

He leapt back just in time to avoid having his head ripped off his shoulders by the massive paw that came out of the darkness, but it still struck him a glancing blow, sending him tumbling back towards the little tent, his head ringing. He had just enough presence of mind to curl protectively around the kitten as he rolled, but he was disoriented and dazed, and it took him a moment to come to himself and lurch to his feet.

What he saw was both brilliant and terrifying.

Buffy was facing down a huge, sleek lioness, turning slowly as it circled her. She had a grim look on her face, her jaw set, but her eyes flickered to Spike as he stood, and he thought he saw a wave of relief cross her face.

“Spike, take the kitten and go,” she hissed.

“Not leaving you,” he snarled back, though he was still too dizzy to do more than stumble a few steps in her direction, but then the lioness attacked and Spike could only watch in awe.

Buffy easily dodged the huge, slashing claws, lashing out with a solid kick to the side of the head – _good girl, remembered the plan!_ – and then she spun around and leaped on the beast’s back, wrestling it to the ground as it snarled and snapped futilely at the air. With a prodigious twist and roll, Buffy flung the lioness towards the pool, where it landed with an immense splash.

“Go!” she shouted, and Spike went, dashing back to the carnival side of the tent, holding open the tent flap for Buffy as she dashed through, handing off the kitten to her and blocking the path behind her, arms spread wide, because he was thinking clearly again and bugger it all, if any heads were getting bitten off his was the obvious choice.

And there was always the very faint chance it wouldn’t go for the head.

But apparently the lioness was less than hungry; the tent flap stayed shut, and when Buffy shouted “Come _on_ , Spike!” from the other side of the fence, he turned and followed her until they were both standing in the clear. He could hear the kitten meowing from inside the basket – he bloody well hoped it was shut tight this time – and he was reaching out to Buffy to check her over for injuries when she beat him to it, pulling him down to where she could inspect his cheek where the lioness had got him.

“Oh god,” she muttered. “I thought you were dead, I thought we were both dead…” and then she was kissing him, desperate and hungry and god it was glorious, she was still hot from battle and salty with sweat, and they stumbled together off to a dim corner far from prying eyes, hands fumbling and bodies straining, and Spike was dizzy again, he was beginning to think the lioness had got his head after all and he was wafting about in post-dust delirium on his way to hell, because oh god this could not be happening, Buffy could not possibly be in his arms kissing him like he was the air she breathed, except she was, she _was_ , she was hot and wild and _real_ and when she finally broke away, gasping, he hugged her to his chest and gazed up at the sky – not so many stars here, but at the same time it was the most beautiful night sky ever – and wondered how the hell this could even be happening.

Eventually, Buffy’s breathing slowed and her arms snaked tight around his waist and they stood there, clinging together like limpets, far longer than Spike had ever dreamed. Buffy rubbed her cheek against him.

“Gotta be nice for the lions,” she said at last. “They don’t live in a cage at all. They’ve got their own special Pridelands, and the carnival is, like, their veranda.”

“Yeah, lucky them,” Spike muttered.

“No, it’s really nice,” Buffy said earnestly, looking up at him. “You hear stories, you know, about how terrible animals in captivity get treated sometimes. That’s why we went all the way up the coast to sell the horses.” She looked down, blushing gorgeously. “I did a whole bunch of research on the internet, y’know? Found a place that has a nice farm for the horses to run around on when they’re not onstage. High marks from all the animal rights organizations.” She frowned pensively. “Except that one, but they’re… kinda fringey.”

Spike didn’t give a good goddamn about the horses’ bloody habitat, but it was bleeding adorable how much Buffy cared. And god knew he’d take any excuse to kiss Buffy again. So he did.

The next time Buffy needed to come up for air, she gave him a tight, hard hug and stepped away.

“We got the kitten,” she said, voice determinedly normal.

Spike inhaled, then exhaled, then nodded. “That we did.” He reluctantly released her, settling his duster about his shoulders as she tugged her clothing back into a semblance of order.

“Right, then.”

They collected the basket and headed back to the entrance.

[GO TO CHAPTER 55](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20980844)


	27. Chapter 27

The elephant enclosure had a high fence, but Buffy didn’t even pause before vaulting over, landing lightly on the packed dirt. Spike leapt after her, leaving his basket behind. Oddly, he didn’t see a single elephant.

“You _do_ realize that Slayer strength won’t do you a lick of good if an elephant steps on you,” he muttered as they approached the tent.

“So I won’t get stepped on,” she whispered back.

“Right.”

The tent was small; now that they were right up on it, it didn’t seem big enough to hold an elephant, even a baby. Spike frowned, scanning the enclosure again: dirt and pond and huge bales of hay, but he didn’t see a single animal.

“Slayer, I am a mite concerned over the lack of animals in this animal habitat.”

Buffy frowned. “Yeah. It does seem a bit deserted.”

“Maybe the elephant’s asleep?” he said doubtfully.

“Maybe.” She set her pretty jaw and gave him that look of hers, the one that said she meant business. “All right. You open the flap, and I’ll grab the kitten.”

 “Righty-ho.” Spike took firm hold of the tent flap.

“On the count of three. One… Two…”

Spike pulled open the flap of the tent and saw…

Stars.

Instead of the interior of a tent, the tent flap opened on a cool night scene, tall grasses and scrubby trees and mounded rocks shading a smooth pond that reflected the moon and stars. A breeze redolent of musky animals and green growing things teased at the canvas flap, sending ripples along the surface of the water, and he felt his jaw drop open.

“Bloody hell,” he whispered.

“Oh.” Buffy’s voice was soft and awed, and she started to step forward onto the grassy savanna.

“Wait,” Spike said, but it was too late, she was already out knee-deep in grass, turning in a slow circle.

“Look at all the stars,” she said, eyes shining in the moonlight, and Spike threw caution to the wind and stepped out with her. He glanced behind him and saw the outside of a tent just like the one they had just entered, staked out in a little clearing.

“I’m looking,” he agreed, but he was only looking at her – he’d seen skies like this in his travels, unmuted by the lights of industrial cities, but he’d never seen anything like Buffy looking at a sky like this.

 

Now that they were out in the silent wilderness, he realized he could hear… heartbeats. Just a few, but loud and slow, far slower than humans, and then there was a deep liquid gulping, and he looked up to see the huge bulk of an elephant as it drank from the waterhole. He took Buffy by the arms and pulled her towards the rocks.

“What are you doing?” she grumbled.

“Trust me, Slayer,” he murmured, encouraging her up to the top of the rocks.

When they reached the top, she gasped. “Oh, they’re huge!” She wrinkled her nose up. “Also smelly.”

“That they are,” Spike agreed. “Too smelly?”

Buffy laughed up at him then, eyes shining. “I’ve smelled worse,” she murmured, and then her lips were on his, like a miracle.

They ended up half-sitting, half-lying along the flat top of the huge boulder, lazily kissing. Buffy insisted on being on her back so she could see the stars – though she also then insisted he give her his duster, which she rolled up to act as a pillow. It was all dreamlike and surreal – the glory of Buffy, her blonde hair spread like cornsilk over the stone, the wonder of her soft lips, the odd musky smell of the elephants mingling with the grassy scent of the savanna. Spike had trouble believing he was kissing Buffy at all, but kissing her while elephants went about their business mere yards away? Bloody insane.

But eventually, Buffy sighed, combing her fingers into his hair. “I suppose we should go find the kitten, huh?”

Spike shrugged. “Bloody thing’s already scarpered back to the circus.” He’d heard the kitten’s racing heartbeat some minutes before – god, he could hear everything here, the world was so quiet! – but hadn’t felt the need to stop kissing because of it, not even when the kitten’s heartbeat had vanished in a rustle of canvas.

Buffy grumbled a bit, before rolling to her feet and walking to the very edge of their rock.

“It’s nice,” she said suddenly, looking down at the watering hole. “The elephants don’t live in a cage at all. They’ve got a whole savanna to wander around in, and the carnival is, like, their veranda.”

“Yeah, lucky them,” Spike grinned, stretching lazily on the rock.

“No, it’s really nice,” Buffy said earnestly, looking down at him. “You hear stories, you know, about how terrible animals in captivity get treated sometimes. That’s why we went all the way up the coast to sell the horses.” She looked down, blushing gorgeously. “I did a whole bunch of research on the internet, y’know? Found a place that has a nice farm for the horses to run around on when they’re not onstage. High marks from all the animal rights organizations.” She frowned pensively. “Except that one, but they’re… kinda fringey.”

Spike didn’t give a good goddamn about the horses’ bloody habitat, but it was bleeding adorable how much Buffy cared. And god knew he’d take any excuse to kiss Buffy again. So he beckoned her close enough to haul her down for a good snog.

She didn’t resist.

Eventually, though, Buffy needed to come up for air, and she gave him a tight, hard hug and rolled to her feet. She looked up at the stars, then at him.

“I guess we should head back, then,” she sighed. “Check in with the guys.” She looked around, then started picking her way down from the boulder.

Spike shrugged in acknowledgment and started to follow, slinging on his duster, only to be taken by surprise when she turned and kissed him again, urgently, knocking him off-balance for a moment.

“Sorry,” she said when they were done. “The stars, y’know?”

“Yeah,” he said shakily. “Stars.”

He showily held open the tent flap for her – he wasn’t always a gentleman, but he wanted to be for her – and then followed after her, only to crash right into her back.

“Buffy, what–?” But the problem was obvious.

The tent hadn’t opened out onto the fenced elephant paddock back at the evil carnival. As a matter of fact, it hadn’t opened up at all.

They were standing in the dark, ordinary interior of a tent.

Buffy grabbed Spike’s hand and dragged him outside, counted loudly to three, then dragged him back through the tent flap. Still the inside of a tent.

Spike joined her in investigating, peering under the sides of the tent, entering and exiting the tent from all directions and all angles, but no matter what they tried, the tent remained a tent.

It stayed a tent all throughout the next day, as they sat inside the shadowed interior – fortunately it was made of good thick canvas, so Spike remained uncrispy – and it stayed a tent for the next week, while they figured out a food source for Buffy and a blood source for Spike, and it stayed a tent as they settled into their new life on the savanna, soon losing track of the passage of days.

By the time they found a way home, some years later, the circus was long gone.

THE END

 

Would you like to try again? [Go to Chapter 1!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20978552)

[Read the Author’s Notes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20983016)


	28. Chapter 28

Unfortunately, the black kitten seemed to have abandoned the Ferris wheel, and after several minutes of fruitless searching, Buffy and Spike found themselves standing in the middle of the games concourse.

Spike looked around, stuffing his hands in his duster pockets. “Could win you a thingamabob. Traditional, isn’t it?”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “I thought you were trying to impress me. I’m not exactly the type to ooh and aah over knocking down bottles or throwing ping-ping balls into goldfish bowls.”

Spike lifted his eyebrows. “And just what _do_ you ooh and aah over, pet?”

She immediately thought of a whole bunch of things Spike could do to make her ooh and aah, and her face turned a little red. “All I’m saying is, if I want a cheap purple teddy bear, I can win my own.”

“That you could,” Spike agreed, then grinned wickedly. “Hell, if you’re feeling all girl-power, _you_ could win _me_ a thingamabob.”

Buffy laughed. “Maybe I will.”

“ _You!_ ”

Buffy spun around at the shout, which had come from a wiry little man in a striped jacket – apparently the uniform for evil carnival barkers. He was glaring at her poisonously, like she’d kicked his puppy or something.

Spike squinted past her. “Doc?”

The little man ignored Spike. “You’re the Slayer. It’s your fault…” Suddenly his face crumpled into tears. He looked so sad and pathetic and old that Buffy felt an instinctive need to comfort him, until he glared up at her through his tears again, and his eyes were gleaming black. “You’re responsible for the ending of the Great Glorificus.”

“Oh, um, Glory?” Buffy glanced at Spike briefly. “Yeah. Sorry about that.” She tried very hard to make her voice sound actually sorry, but she was pretty sure she didn’t succeed. Kinda hard to regret the death of an evil bitch hellgod who’d been brain-sucking people left and right and specifically targeting her sister.

But Doc was back to mournful tears. “I was all set up with a job in her infernal court,” he said. “But now business is so bad I had to get a part-time job just to afford rent. It was this or being a greeter at Walmart.” He shuddered.

“Yeah.” Buffy looked at Spike, who was engrossed in something just past Doc’s shoulder; Buffy craned her neck and saw a display of small plushies on carabiner clips, weird little monsters or creatures, dozens of different ones just hanging from a display.

He caught her glance and jerked his chin at the display. “Win me one o’ those, love?” His voice was both cajoling and teasing.

Buffy looked up at the sign over the tearful old man’s head. TEST YOUR STRENGTH! was written in huge red letters, as if exploding. Next to it, a thermometer-like pole rose ten feet in the air, marked along its length with judgments ranging from BABY to SUPERMAN.

“Excuse me,” the old man sniffled. “Didn’t mean to neglect my job.” His voice changed, becoming bright and enthusiastic. “Step right up! Test your strength! Find out if you’re a man or a boy!” He swished his striped cane around dramatically, as if he were the Master of Ceremonies at the creepiest cabaret ever.

Spike waggled his eyebrows at Buffy. “Oh yes, do let’s find out if you’re a man!”

She flexed her hands dramatically. “Man enough to kick _your_ behind,” she grinned, holding out her hand to the creepy barker for the mallet. Spike peeled off a number of tickets from his roll, stepping to one side to watch, eyes glittering avidly.

“Oh,” Doc said in a regretful voice. “You’re the Slayer, so… I’m afraid you need to have a bit of a handicap.” He reached behind the prize display and fiddled with something. Immediately the thermometer shot up, growing and growing until the bell at the top was a good twenty-five feet in the air. “In the interest of fairness, you understand.”

Buffy glared at the little creep, noticing suddenly the rat-like tail coming from beneath his jacket. “Oh yes. Totally fair.” She quickly assessed the game. “How high do I have to get the thingie to win a prize?”

“It’s a puck,” Doc said solicitously. “And it’s not easy. You have to ring the bell. Although if you make it halfway, I am prepared to offer you this very stylish eraser as a consolation prize…”

“Gosh,” Buffy said, batting her eyes. “That does seem hard.” And she swung the mallet over her head and smashed it down with all her strength.

The puck flew upwards like a cannonball, crashing right into the bell; with a resounding peal, the top of the game exploded, splinters of wood falling down like rain while the bell itself, dented and misshapen, landed on the ground at Buffy’s feet, still vibrating.

“Pick out your prize, Spike,” she said loftily.

Doc barely even seemed fazed, reaching behind him and taking one of the little plushies off the rack. “This must be the one you want.” He held out a little yellow mouse thing that looked kind of familiar to Buffy. His grin managed to be both charming and vaguely disturbing at the same time.

Spike ignored the offer, decisively pointing at a lumpy oyster-looking thing with a silly cartoon glare stitched onto the black pearl inside. “That one.”

Doc blinked. “Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer this one? It’s our most popular.”

Spike glared at him. “Yeah. I bet it is. Also most likely to be cursed.” He reached out and took the one he’d requested. “This little bugger’ll do me fine.”

Doc’s eyes narrowed dangerously for a moment before he gave a determinedly affable grin. “Well, perhaps your girlfriend would like to play again? Win you the whole set?” He gestured at the game, which was suddenly pristine and whole again.

“I’m thinking not,” Buffy grinned, taking Spike by the elbow. “My date and I have a prior engagement with something fattening and bad for me. In a non-cursey kind of way.”

Spike gave the little old man a jaunty salute as they left.

“So,” Buffy said as they walked away, Spike clipping the little stuffie onto his basket. “A clam.”

“Cloyster,” Spike corrected automatically, then rolled his eyes. “Little fellow’s a badass. Shoots spikes and all.” He gave the little toy a spin. “Got a Spike Cannon even.”

Buffy nodded as if she had a clue what he was talking about, but then Spike took her by the hand and pulled her into an alcove behind the goldfish-bowl game, setting her up against the wooden wall.

“Thank you for winning me a prezzie,” he purred, eyes heavy-lidded. He was quivering with energy.

Buffy grinned up at him. “Well, I hear it’s the traditional thing to do on a carnival date.”

He set his hands flat against the wall on either side of her waist. “Love watching you break things,” he muttered. “It’s bloody hot.”

She looked at him askance. “Breaking things is sexy?”

“Damn sexy,” he confirmed. “All that danger… power…” He groaned and kissed her, hard, and she snaked her arms up around his neck and met his passion with her own. How many times had they kissed so far tonight? She vaguely tried to count in her head, but then gave it up, because in the end there was only one possible answer: not enough.

It wasn’t enough.

*

Anya cuddled into Xander as they strolled through the romantic lights of the carnival.

“How are you feeling, sweetie?” she asked solicitously.

He grunted vaguely in response, but Anya was fluent in all the Xander sounds, and easily interpreted it as meaning _“Quite well, my beloved darling, as long as you are by my side.”_  

“That’s nice,” she said happily. “You know, I thought Buffy was just going to get us in unnecessary danger, bringing us with to this place, but I’m having a wonderful time. Aren’t you?”

Another grunt _. “Blissful indeed, my adorable sex kitten.”_

Anya hugged him tighter. “Are you well enough to go on another ride? Because the carnival isn’t staying forever, Buffy’s going to slay it.”

Grunt. _“Whatever you wish, my precious love.”_

Not-talking Xander was such a sweet-talker. “Okay, let’s do that one next!” Anya bubbled.

Xander whimpered joyfully as Anya tugged him towards the Tilt-a-Whirl.

*

Andrew ducked behind the Tilt-a-Whirl ticket booth, watching through narrowed eyes as Warren and Jonathan walked past. Normally, he would be keen to share his exciting new adventure with the only friends he had managed to find since Sunnydale High, but Future Andrew had been very clear.

Warren and Jonathan were lame.

But he didn’t need them anyhow. He already had managed to capture dozens of Pokémon – even a couple that’d had red circles – and he was well on his way to Pokémon Mastery.

He didn’t need Warren or Jonathan.

He didn’t need them at all.

He looked at his screen, at the lone Andrew mirrored there.

Well, maybe he’d show them later, if he got tired of being alone.

*

Giles glared impotently at his little notebook. He had intended to take down his observations about the evil pub and its evil deep-fryer, but the oil on his glasses was making it difficult for him to focus and… well, there was no getting around it, he had to deal with the bitter truth that he, Ripper, now wore bifocals, and thus could not write in his own notebook without his glasses, unless he placed the page three inches from his nose, at which point the fountain pens he preferred would not write properly. Pencil would do in a pinch, but smudged far too easily for permanent records.

Was it too much to ask to be allowed to be mature and yet to possess a young body?

Grumbling, he tucked his book away again. He might as well investigate the surroundings further. He had a mind like a steel trap; surely he could remember his observations until he was able to record them.

And perhaps he would be able to find a booth with napkins.

Three booths later, he had given up hope of finding anything with which he could clean his glasses. The funnel cake had proven innocent. The ice cream was innocuous. And the deep-fried Twinkies were… Well. They were deep-fried Twinkies, which was appalling in the extreme, but they seemed to be free of demonic influence, other than the usual Hostess aura.

He had grave doubts about the candy floss, however.

He leaned in close, peering at the machine as it spun at high speed. “And you’re quite certain the ingredients used in this dessert are merely sugar, food coloring, and natural flavorings?” he inquired in a businesslike fashion.

The teen girl operating the machine shrugged. “Basically. Though I think we might use FD&C Red Number Forty. I think that might be evil?”

Giles leaned in a little closer, and at that very moment the machine gave a little extra spurt of energy, spraying filaments of candy floss across his glasses.

“Ah, yes,” he said wryly. “Evil indeed.”

*

Willow laced her fingers into Tara’s as they walked along the games concourse. They had dutifully checked out the area of the Tunnel of Love for the Siamese kitten, but there had been no sign of it, and it seemed silly to spend the whole half hour searching the same tent flaps over and over, when there was a whole carnival to explore. So here she was with her sweetie taking in all the sights, the flashing lights and the cheery music and all the people having fun…

 _Holy Toledo!_ Willow quickly averted her eyes from the couple making out behind the goldfish-bowl game.

Tara glanced behind them, curious. “Wow. Was that Spike?”

Willow shrugged casually. “Sure looked like it. He’s got the hair, and the coat…”

“Kissing Buffy.” Tara’s eyes were gleaming.

Willow waved a hand dismissively. “Nah, I’m sure it was just some punk girl he picked up…” She sighed in resignation. “Yeah, that was Buffy. I recognized the boots.” It had been hard to miss the boots, with her leg all hiked up like that.

Tara squeezed her hand. “You know what this means, right?”

Willow turned a mock-scowl on her girlfriend. “Fine! You have officially won the bet. I owe you a Coke, or a similar prize of equivalent value of your choice.”

Tara beamed brilliantly, swinging their joined hands, and Willow couldn’t help but laugh.

It had been a good month before tonight that Tara had casually mentioned to Willow that she thought there might be something going on between Buffy and Spike – something about how their auras were changing color, or a red thread joining them, or something else that Tara could see and Willow couldn’t – and of course Willow had scoffed at the very idea, because anyone could see that Buffy and Spike were just hanging around together because the rest of the Scoobies were all couple-y and so the two lone wolves were just lone-wolfing together by default. But Tara had insisted, and Willow thought Tara was even more beautiful when she was confident, and so they’d shaken on the bet, Willow sure that she was going to win, because even though everyone knew Spike was infatuated with Buffy, there was no way _Buffy_ would ever go for _Spike_ , not in a million years.

But then… she’d started noticing, too.

Nothing big, of course – Buffy certainly hadn’t been gushing to Willow about Spike the way she had about all her previous boyfriends – but little tiny things. The way Buffy watched Spike when he wasn’t looking, little bemused glances, all the stranger because they were so brief. How Buffy danced a little sexier when Spike was around. The growing preponderance of red in Buffy’s wardrobe. The sentence-finishing when they were discussing patrol – and the fact that they were patrolling together in the first place. Touches – nothing that would qualify as a caress, of course, but little casual contacts that were made non-casual by the way Buffy and Spike studiously tried too hard to be casual, _not looking_ at each other with such determination that it was more telling than if they’d been making moon-eyes.

And once Willow started noticing, she couldn’t very well stop, especially with Tara _also_ noticing, and occasionally giving her a significant look or hand squeeze. One memorable Scooby meeting, Willow had started a couple of sets of tally-marks in her notebook, one for Buffy and one for Spike, making a mark every time there was a touch or a look or a shared joke, and at the end of the night, looking at her tally, she had known for sure.

Eventually, she was going to owe Tara a Coke.

And given what she’d seen just now, the hiked-up leg and the wandering hands and the way Buffy and Spike had been kissing, like they were literally incapable of stopping… _eventually_ had definitely come to call.

But all of this was, if she were perfectly honest, less important than Tara’s warm hand in hers, and the way Tara was looking around at the midway games, as if she’d never seen them before.

Wait.

“Tara, is this your first time at a carnival?”

She flushed in response. “Well, no, not really, but… my father didn’t really approve of the games. He thought they were run by swindlers.”

Willow grinned. “Oh, they _are_ run by swindlers. But you can still have fun.” She gestured at the goldfish bowl game. “For example, did you know I spent hours of my youth perfecting my ping-pong ball throwing technique? I won a goldfish at the county fair every year for five years in a row.”

“So you had five goldfish?”

“Well, no,” Willow said sheepishly. “Just one at a time. They, um, usually didn’t live very long after. That’s where the swindle came in.”

Tara looked up at the prizes. “They have stuffed goldfish here. Those won’t die.”

Willow nodded sagely. “This is true. But those big prizes up there? You only win them if you play the game, like, a hundred times. The actual prize you win for one go through is a lot smaller. That’s the other part of the swindle.”

“Oh.”

Willow took both of Tara’s hands in hers. “But I bet I can still do it.” She smiled, feeling her joy bubble out. “Whaddya say? Want me to win you a crappy little prize?”

Tara grinned slyly. “Do I get to kiss you behind the booth after?”

“Only if you want to,” Willow reassured her, then frowned. “And if Spike and Buffy are gone, because otherwise that would be kinda awkward.”

Willow handed the teen working the game some tickets – she thought she remembered him from English class, but she had to be mistaken, because she was sure Jared had been killed at Graduation – and accepted her five ping-pong balls.

“Now, watch the master.”

The first two balls lobbed easily into bowls. The third she put a little too much power into and it ricocheted off the rim. The fourth she overcompensated; it fell just barely short of the table of bowls.

“Three in to win,” not-Jared said in a bored tone of voice.

Willow narrowed her eyes, aiming. She knew she could call on the magicks, a little hint of breeze to get the ball just where she wanted, but… she and Tara had been working on this. Not just how to use the magic, but when to use the magic, and while Willow sometimes disagreed with Tara, this she knew for certain: Tara wouldn’t be happy with magical cheating.

And Willow liked Tara happy.

She aimed and tossed the last ball, and it plopped right into the center bowl, and probably-not-Jared pulled out the inevitable tray of first-round prizes from its hiding place under the counter, absently suggesting that they use more tickets and try for a bigger prize.

Tara pondered the selection carefully before choosing a little gummy-plastic goldfish keychain, but the way she looked up at Willow after made her feel like the Queen of the Midway, and even though Buffy and Spike were still at it when they went past their alcove – Willow murmured a little “you go, girl!” as they passed – they were able to find another private little corner for a smidgen of smoocharama.

It was magic.

*

“Was that Willow I just heard?” Buffy said into Spike’s lips, looking around. They were still all alone, though, and Spike just hiked her leg a little higher, his hand nestling comfortably into the little dent where her thigh met her butt, fingers just shy of the edge of her panties, while he planted sweet little kisses down her throat.

“Must be your imagination,” Spike murmured absently, bringing a hint of teeth into play.

But the moment was broken for Buffy, and she extricated herself from Spike’s grip, tugging her clothing back into place. “I thought we were going to start this date with a snack,” she muttered, a little petulant because… well, it wasn’t really any of Willow’s business, but that didn’t mean she wanted her _watching_ them.

Spike sighed, but stood up straight, tugging his duster back into place. “All right then.”

He seemed a little pouty, and, well, Buffy felt a little pouty, so she tucked her hand into his as they strolled towards the various food carts, winding her fingers and her arm with his and rubbing her cheek against his shoulder.

It was nice.

“So, what’s your pleasure?” Spike said, just a hint of innuendo in his voice.

Buffy took a deep breath, resisting the suggestion for the moment, and chose…

 

What treat does Buffy want?

Deep-Fried Twinkie: [GO TO CHAPTER 130](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982749)

Cream Puff: [GO TO CHAPTER 30](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20979830)

Ice Cream: [GO TO CHAPTER 59](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20980928)

Deep-Fried Butter: [GO TO CHAPTER 87](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981774)


	29. Chapter 29

Buffy stared at the _thing_ in her hand.  _Oh god, what the hell was I thinking?_ It looked almost like a corn dog, the fried batter drizzled with a layer of sugary glaze, but… well, either the thing involved a whole lot of batter, or they had literally just inserted a handle into an entire stick of butter and fried it up. She was almost afraid to find out which.

“Buffy!”

She turned to see the last person she had expected to ever see again in Sunnydale – Riley Finn, larger than life, striding across the midway as if the butter had summoned him.

Now, with Spike’s kisses still fresh on her lips, he was the last person she _wanted_ to see.

But he was smiling at her easily, that affable grin she had found so soothingly normal, and she couldn’t help but smile back, even as Spike growled beside her.

“Riley! What are you doing back here?”

He shrugged. “Heard through channels that there was something going down, thought maybe you might need me.”

Buffy looked at Riley for a long moment, not really sure what to say. She couldn’t look at him without remembering how she’d felt, how she’d cried, how she’d run after him to beg him to stay when she’d _needed him_ , back when everything was falling apart, and yeah, she remembered the love, but she also remembered emptiness, and tears, and most of all how when she’d _needed him_ he’d been running around getting his bite on, and then gone, because no matter how much she’d _needed him_ it hadn’t been enough.

“My mom died,” was what she finally said.

He blinked. “Oh, Buffy, I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah,” Buffy said shortly. “Me too.”

She could feel Spike quivering behind her, and what the hell, she was feeling a little pissy; she tucked her arm into Spike’s and tugged him forward.

“Spike and I are on a _date_ ,” she said firmly.

Riley’s eyes narrowed. “Are you?”

“That we are,” Spike chimed in smugly; Buffy elbowed him before he got too deep into the gloating.

There was so much Buffy could say, but as she looked at Riley, she just felt tired, like she’d walked a thousand miles since that day she’d run after him, and… she didn’t want to go back. Not to who she’d been back then, when she’d been desperate to prove that her love was enough. When she’d _needed him_ so much, and he hadn’t been there, even when he’d been right by her side.

She didn’t know where she was going from here, what she wanted or what she needed, but she knew… she knew she didn’t need Riley. Not anymore.

Riley was still looking at her with that cheerful, puppy-dog smile that she had once thought meant he was actually a pretty nice guy, but she was now starting to suspect was a mask. “Just don’t worry about it, Riley. We’ve got everything under control.” She smiled sweetly. “I don’t need you.”

His face shifted ominously for just a moment before sliding back into a smile. “All right, Buffy. I can see this isn’t a good time. I can come by the house later on and we can catch up on things. Sound good?”

It really didn’t, but if Riley couldn’t make the connection between _being on a date_ and _not wanting to talk to your ex_ , then that was his problem. “Whatever.” She glared at the deep-fried butter in her hand, winding up to toss it into the garbage.

Riley caught her arm. “Aren’t you going to eat that?”

Buffy looked at it again, just to make sure. “Nope. Definitely not.” She shook his hand off pointedly.

“Well don’t waste it. Here, give it to me, I’ll eat it. They use real Iowa butter in these, you know. All the best foods come from Iowa.”

“Knock yourself out,” Buffy sighed drily, handing over the heart-attack-on-a-stick. “Look, it’s sweet and all that you came back, but I have this whole carnival thing under control. Enjoy your trip back to the jungle.” She grabbed Spike by the elbow and dragged him back towards the concession stands.

***

Riley watched her go, frowning. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Buffy hadn’t been all that happy to see him. But he supposed he’d been right about her all along; she had some sick obsession with vampires, or she wouldn’t have sunk to dating Spike. It was a shame he was only here for the night, or he’d take her out for dinner, remind her what a man could be like before it was too late.

Ah, well. Her loss. He’d sure dodged a bullet, getting away from her. He started walking back to the carnival helipad. There was always that girl he’d rescued in the jungle; she seemed to appreciate him well enough.

He took a bite of the deep-fried butter, enjoying the crispy exterior and the soft, rich interior, and in his absorption in the nostalgic Iowa flavor, he missed his step and tripped, tumbling over a low fence and into a weird sunken moat. _Great._

He had just heaved himself up on the shore of the ridiculous waterway when he realized he was surrounded.

By lions.

He reached for the taser on his hip, aiming it at the lioness leading the pride, but it fizzled in his hand, fritzed out by the water.

“Buffy?” he whispered frantically, then risked a shout. “Buffy!”

*

The lions closed in, licking their chops. They had been fed plentifully, of course, but here was something fresh and buttery, with plenty of meat for the whole pride to share. And it looked to be a delicious feast indeed.

After all, all the best foods came from Iowa.

***

Buffy was still hungry, but it was really hard to make up her mind what she wanted to eat when there was so much noise behind her.

“God, what is up with the lions?” she groused, glaring back over her shoulder.

Spike shrugged. “Must be feeding time,” he muttered offhandedly. “Now, am I buying you a sweet, or not?”

“Oh, you’re buying, all right,” Buffy retorted. “For some reason I have a really bad taste in my mouth…”

 

What treat does Buffy want?

Deep-Fried Twinkie: [GO TO CHAPTER 48](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20980694)

Cream Puff: [GO TO CHAPTER 57](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20980865)

Ice Cream: [GO TO CHAPTER 80](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981564)


	30. Chapter 30

Buffy had just accepted the cream puff from the teenage cashier when Spike tugged at her arm.

“There it goes,” he said, jerking his chin in the direction the black kitten was running.

They followed it to a huge ride that loomed over them like an immense spider.

Buffy frowned up at it. “Isn’t this a bit huge for a traveling carnival?”

But Spike was rubbing his hands in anticipation. “Brilliant! It’s the Sky Whirl! Always wanted to ride this one.”

The ride had three huge arms, each of which supported a dozen carriages, solid at the bottom with a cage window circling the top half. Two arms were up in the air, circling slowly high above the carnival, while the carriages of the third rested on the ground for boarding. Spike took Buffy by the hand and led her towards the attendant, peeling off tickets from his diminishing roll to pay for their ride.

Buffy couldn’t help but roll her eyes as he tugged her towards the boarding area. “Aren’t we supposed to be catching a kitten?”

Spike grinned, breaking into a lope. “That we are, love. And here it is.”

He handed her into one of the cages, and there the black kitten sat, gazing at them in surprise. Spike pulled the carriage door shut behind him, latching it securely. “And now it can’t get away.” The attendant came by their carriage, checking the latch and moving on.

Buffy settled onto the round bench that ringed the carriage, sighing. “And neither can we.” They lifted off the ground then, their wheel starting to rotate slowly as the arm lifted up into the air.

Spike settled next to Buffy, putting his arm around her. The kitten was playing with some bit of fluff on the floor. “Thought I’d missed my chance for this ride,” he said, beaming down at her. “One in Santa Clara closed before Dru and I made it out this way, and other one off in Illinois closed down last year.” He squeezed her shoulder affectionately. “Thought they’d been scrapped, but it seems they just went on the road.”

“Gosh, I’m so happy for you.” Buffy regarded her cream puff with mingled excitement and trepidation. It was huge, puffed high with fluffy cream, and it was hard to even figure out where to start.

Spike huffed out a little sigh of frustration. “Bloody hell, Slayer, don’t you ever go to the cinema? Wonderworld? Bloody Beverly Hills Cop III?”

“Oh yeah, that was a movie.” She smiled at him indulgently. “I’m sure it was better than _Cats_ , and you wanted to see it again and again.”

Spike rolled his eyes right back. “Right then, Slayer. Eat your cream puff.”

“I think I shall,” she said primly. She chose an edge that looked nibbleable and took a tentative bite. The pastry was crisp and flaky and perfect, and she caught up a bit of cream on her finger, and it was even perfecter, and then Spike shifted his arm and she looked up to realize he was watching her, his mouth hanging open slightly.

“What?”

He shrugged. “Just thinking it’s a good thing we’re hundreds of feet in the air. Sight of you eating that cream-filled torture device may not be appropriate for younger audiences.”

Buffy lifted an eyebrow, sticking her tongue out to lick up a bit more cream. “What are we talking, PG-13 here?”

Spike grinned down at her, skimming a hand over her breast. “I’d go with NC-17, myself.” His voice was easy, but there was an uncertain edge to it.

Buffy shivered at the touch of his hand, feeling like she stood on the edge of a precipice – well, actually, they _were_ hundreds of feet in the air, so she guessed that wasn’t too unusual, but the metaphor – no, simile, she always got those two mixed up – the simile still worked. Spike had offered her a choice. She could pull back, give Spike the message that this date was doomed to stay on first base.

Or she could try for a home run.

 _And why the hell shouldn’t I?_ she thought suddenly. She was young and free and old enough to know what she wanted. And what she wanted right now…

Before she had time to think better of it, Buffy stood and plopped down on the bench across from Spike. He looked bereft for the barest moment before his face settled into sardonic lines.

“Date over, then? Had enough?”

Buffy smiled secretively. “Not at all.” She lounged across the seat, draping herself into a sexy pose. “Was just thinking you’d appreciate having a better view.” She kicked a leg up, knowing her skirt was falling in a way that probably exposed her underwear, and not caring. Or, no, she cared. She _wanted_ to give Spike a good view of her polka-dot panties, and from the look on his face, he definitely appreciated it.

She took another bite of the cream puff.

“You have to admit, this ride is nice and private.” She tried to sound casual. Maybe she even succeeded.

Spike lounged across his own arc of bench. “Indeed it is.”

“We could do almost anything in here, and no-one would ever know.” She took another huge bite, watching his eyes as she did.

“That we could, love.”

“Like, for example…” She took a deep breath, setting the cream puff down beside her, and swept her shirt off over her head. “If I wanted to eat my cream puff topless, who would know? Nobody would be able to see.” She lounged back again, picking up her pastry. “Nobody except you.”

Spike nodded, mesmerized.

Buffy took another good bite of her cream puff; a little cream got on her cheek and she licked it off. “I could be completely naked in here, and nobody would know. Except you.”

Spike grinned then, teeth white in the semidarkness. “Then why aren’t you?”

“Because I’m eating my cream puff,” Buffy said loftily, but she was shaking.

Spike’s eyelids drifted low. “I could hold it for you.”

Buffy took one more bite, then solemnly held out the cream puff to Spike. He took it just as solemnly, watching her silently as she shimmied out of her skirt. She took another deep breath before skimming her panties down over her hips, unzipping her boots and slipping them all off at once, until she was completely naked.

She resumed her lounging position on the bench, and held out her hand. “Gimme.”

Spike handed over the cream puff wordlessly. There had to be some sort of award for making Spike speechless, Buffy mused as she took another bite.

Their carriage continued to circle in the air, and Buffy continued to eat her cream puff and Spike continued to watch her, and it was all like a dream, a surreal and naughty dream, except the cool night air on her bare skin and the feel of the vinyl beneath her and the sweet cream on her lips, they were all real, and Buffy was just licking the last bits of cream off her fingertips when Spike started and glanced out the bars of the cage window.

“Bugger. Coming in to land.”

Buffy squeaked and dove for her clothing. “Oh god, is someone coming?” She tugged her shirt on first as their carriage came down to ground level.

Spike gave her an amused glance, then peered out at the loading area. “He’s two cars away.”

“Keep watch!” Buffy hissed, wriggling her skirt on, and Spike shrugged and kept watch.

Buffy couldn’t find her panties at first, so she zipped her boots on, and then the black kitten meowed and she looked down at the floor to see it lying proudly across the polka-dotted underwear. She snatched it away – and the kitten hissed in affront and leaped up and out the bars, and then the attendant was there, smiling as he unlocked their door, so Buffy smiled back and balled up the panties in her hand, hoping she didn’t look as panicked as she felt, and stepped out of the carriage and walked across the cement landing, praying that there wouldn’t be a breeze.

Spike grumbled something about the kitten, and Buffy sighed. “It’s not like you were watching it.”

He grinned over at her, doing something lewd with his tongue that made Buffy twice as aware of her pantyless state. “Had something much more interesting to watch.”

Buffy glanced at him sidelong. “Did you enjoy the show?”

“What can I say?” He slid an arm around her waist. “It was better than _Cats_. I’d be bloody ecstatic to see it again and again.”

Buffy took a deep shivering breath, and tucked her own arm around him. “Maybe you can,” she said casually, then stepped away, running a few steps ahead. “The kitten went in that tent,” she said brightly, as if they had just been talking about the weather.

As if she hadn’t just tucked her panties into his duster pocket.

Spike smiled faintly, sauntering after her, and she turned and walked ahead, listening carefully for the moment he found her present.

Ah, there it was. A little surprised growl. God, Spike was easy.

She gave her skirt a little flip and followed the kitten.

 

Which way did the kitten go?

Arcade: [GO TO CHAPTER 44](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20980631)

Sideshows: [GO TO CHAPTER 76](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981471)


	31. Chapter 31

“Yeah, I’ll have that,” Spike growled, stepping closer to Buffy, but just as he was about to take the cone from her, she snatched it away, holding it off to the side, and god, what _was_ that look on her face? She looked terrified and anticipatory and playful, and something else, something that sent shivers all through Spike, and oh god, he had to kiss her.

“Please,” he begged, and she grinned impishly, setting a hand on his chest, and then the ice cream cone was back in his vision again as she curled her tongue around it, scooping up a slash of ice cream, and then she lifted her mouth to his, sliding her tongue and the sweet soft-serve into his mouth all together, and he groaned and kissed her, matching the slow sensual glide of her tongue even as he craved more.

After a bit, she broke free. “How does it taste?” she whispered, her lips brushing his.

“Brilliant,” he whispered back, catching another taste of her lips, but then the cone was there again in his vision, Buffy holding him back again.

“You can have the rest,” she said silkily.

“Don’t want the sodding ice cream,” he muttered, kissing her again, but then she laughed and pressed the cone into his hand, and he took it without thinking, and then her hands were on his chest, sending him stumbling back. Before he even regained his balance, she had leaned forward from the hips, her sweet arse still holding the door firmly shut, and then Spike lost his balance all over again because her shirt was off, tugged over her head and tossed aside, and then she was leaning back against the door, her face still hungry-playful-terrified, her breasts completely and utterly bare. Which – he’d known she wasn’t wearing a bra, he was basically always aware of the state of Buffy’s breasts, the way he was always aware of the sunrise and the weather and the seasons, but even with all the snogging they’d done this evening he’d not expected to actually have to deal with the lack of underthings, not in any concrete way, and so he just stared at them like the miracle they were.

God, they were perfect.

His silence seemed to unnerve Buffy, though; she laughed awkwardly, eyes darting around until they landed on her discarded shirt. “Sorry,” she said sheepishly. “I just thought…”

“Bloody hell, Buffy,” Spike managed then. “Are you trying to dust me?”

Buffy blinked then. “No, I… um. It was a stupid idea.” And god, the light was fading from her eyes, and she was looking at her shirt again, and Spike suddenly realized she thought he was _rejecting_ her, and that was just insupportable, so he stepped forward, angling his body so she couldn’t see her bloody clothing, and he brought the ice cream cone up between them. It was dripping now, and her eyes flew to it, and she swallowed visibly, and _god._

“Had an idea, did you?” He held the cone so the drips of melting ice cream started landing on Buffy’s chest, and her eyes fluttered closed.

“Yes,” she said softly.

“On the carousel?”

She nodded shakily.

He watched the rivulets of ice cream tricking down her breasts. “Had a few ideas of my own,” he said conversationally.

Buffy opened her eyes then, glaring at him. “My idea first,” she said impatiently, and seeing as Spike thought her idea was bloody brilliant, he stopped mucking about and got right down to it.

At the first stroke of his tongue along one of the trails of ice cream, Buffy gasped, one hand coming up to tangle in his hair, and Spike laughed or groaned, or… bloody hell, he didn’t know what noises were coming out of his mouth, he just knew the taste and feel of her under his tongue, warm skin beneath cool ice cream and her blood flowing just under the skin, life and death all in one, and he dribbled more sweet drips, sucking it off her, lips tracing every inch, and _bloody hell_ the ice cream wasn’t melting fast enough and he reared back and looked her in her wide, unfocused eyes and painted a swath of ice cream right across her nipple, bending to suck it into his mouth, and god, now _she_ was making noises, little whimpers and moans, and he heard every one, committing their sweet music to memory. He did the other breast, then fell to his knees, spreading ice cream across her belly and licking it off with long strokes of his tongue, reveling in the way she gasped at the cold and then sighed at his caresses, and then he heard the sound of a zipper and then her hands skimmed her skirt off her hips and he was looking at her polka-dotted underwear, or at least he was for about three seconds before she shoved those down as well.

He looked up at her and she looked down at him, and then he grinned.

“Why don’t you come down here, love?” he said gently.

She blinked. “I’m holding the door closed.”

“Don’t need to _stand_ to do that.” He curled his free hand around the back of her knee. “Think you’ll want to be seated for this part.”

Buffy took a deep breath, and sank down.

Spike wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her down further until she was on her elbows, her shoulders holding the door shut, shouldering her knees wide until she was arranged to his satisfaction; she watched him the whole time, panting and quivering, and when he finally raised what was left of the dripping ice cream cone, drizzling the sweet melting stickiness across her stomach and down to her delicious bare quim, she sighed.

“Please,” she whispered, and he gave her what she begged for, lapping the sweet drips off her quaking belly and down, down until he was there, his tongue lost in her wet heat, and bugger the ice cream, he tossed the dregs aside and took hold of her knees, and delved into the sweetest taste of all.

When she gasped and shook, the glorious taste of her ecstasy bursting on his tongue, he couldn’t help but laugh brokenly into her. “Bloody brilliant idea, pet,” he said, pressing a line of kisses along the inside of her thigh.

She laughed back, shakily stroking his hair. “I’m sure yours were good, too.”

“All good things in time,” he said magnanimously, and set his tongue to her again.

*

They might have stayed in the little utility shed for hours more, exploring all of Spike’s ideas – which might in turn inspire more epiphanies for Buffy, he reasoned – except that the bloody calico kitten decided it was done with being shut up and came to sit by Buffy’s shoulder, scratching at the door and meowing piteously. Its yowls were shortly matched by the kitten in the basket, and the cacophony rather destroyed the mood.

“We really should get all three,” Buffy said, voice gratifyingly slurred with satiation.

Spike was starting to think he didn’t care if his head _did_ get bitten off, not if the price was a few more minutes buried in Buffy, but the lady had spoken, and so he scooped up the kitten, popping it in the basket, and stood to fetch Buffy’s shirt. She hastily reassembled her clothing, grimacing at the stickiness.

“Do I look okay?” she said anxiously, tugging at her clothing.

Spike looked at her, a thousand words coming to mind, but none of them enough. “Yeah,” he finally said.

They headed off to the gate.

[GO TO CHAPTER 91](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981876)


	32. Chapter 32

“Love a taste,” Spike purred, and as Buffy held the cone up to his lips, he went for the warm skin after all, hands gliding under Buffy’s shirt and up to cover her bare breasts – no bra tonight! – and the cool ice cream and her warm skin and the way she gasped at the contact all came together in a perfect storm of perfection. Buffy’s head fell back against his shoulder, and he curled around to press a kiss to her forehead.

“Eat your ice cream, love,” he murmured, and she obeyed as if on autopilot, licking at the ice cream cone as she arched desperately into his hands, and Spike grinned into her shoulder, brushing sweet tender kisses along her deltoid as he reached one hand down further, furling her skirt up and up, and she let out a little _oh!_ of pleasure as he stroked her tenderly through her panties, which were already delectably damp.

She pulsed her hips against his hand, matching his rhythm as he stroked, her tongue taking little urgent licks of ice cream between moans, and then she reached down with her free hand and urged his fingers inside her panties, and god, she was butter-slick, her clit hard and throbbing against his fingertips. He stroked harder, delving his fingers inside her over and over, each time dragging them up through all her wetness to the tender nubbin at the top, and she gasped and writhed and licked her ice cream, and when he finally sent her over the edge of ecstasy, her teeth crunched into the nearly-empty cone as she stifled a cry.

He stroked her gently as she came down, kissing the top of her head as she absently crunched down the rest of her cone, and when it was all gone she turned her face up to his and kissed him deeply. She tasted of vanilla and sugar and cream, and he wondered dizzily what the rest of her tasted like, but then she kept turning and sank down and she had his trousers undone before he could find out, and then his cock was in her hot sticky mouth and he shelved the question of Buffy-flavor for another time, giving himself up to her completely.

And she took all of him, in every sense of the word, exploring every inch of his cock with her nimble tongue and nibbling delicately at his foreskin, her own urgency making her rougher than perhaps a human might have enjoyed but god, it was perfect for Spike, and then she sucked him deep into her mouth over and over again, so hot and wet and somehow frantic that he was soon desperate, begging her for more, swearing at each stroke of her tongue, until she finally laughed joyously around him, the vibrations delicious, and then she did something he couldn’t possibly explain, some prodigious mix of tongue and teeth and glorious suction, and he came so hard he nearly blacked out, and Buffy was still laughing when he came back to himself, wiping her face off with a napkin, and he pulled her up for another kiss, because he loved her, he loved her and if this was the only moment they ever had, he’d still treasure it until he was dust.

And then Buffy wiped her streaming eyes and settled in beside him, looking out over the carnival again, still giggling. “We’re coming in to land,” she said presently. “Better make ourselves decent.”

Spike much preferred being indecent, but he zipped himself away and, while he was thinking about it, snatched up the black kitten from where it was lounging on the far seat, studiously ignoring their shenanigans. He popped it in the basket with its fellow, ignoring its complaints.

Buffy gave him a quick hug then, just before the attendant came over and unlocked their carriage.

“Two down, one to go!”

 

[GO TO CHAPTER 91](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981876)


	33. Chapter 33

Buffy sauntered into the arcade, giving her butt an extra twitch as she walked, because she knew Spike was following her, and she knew by now he had to have discovered the underwear in his pocket, and so thus she also knew that he knew she was currently sans panties, and all that knowledge added up to the inevitable conclusion that Spike’s eyes were almost certainly riveted on her behind, hoping for a breeze.

It was heady, the power and awareness. Buffy remembered what it had felt like to be Cave Buffy, single-minded in her pursuit of what she wanted, and she felt the same way now – except that she was whole-minded and fully cognizant of what she was doing, which was way, way better. Like, if she’d been Cave Buffy right now, she would have been just flinging him down to the floor regardless of the two or three patrons of the arcade, ripping off his clothes and screwing him right into the ground, but… Okay, actually, that sounded really good to Powerful Not-Cave-Buffy too, except for the pre-teen audience part.

She had to get Spike alone.

Fortunately, she spotted the black kitten then, its tail flicking as it ducked behind a video game. Into a very private-looking hidden corner.

She sighed in gratitude. _That’ll do, kitten. That’ll do._

She winked over her shoulder at Spike – who was indeed looking just where she wanted him to.

“This way, Spike,” she said in an inviting voice, and followed the kitten.

 

Which machine did the kitten go behind?

Pac-Man [GO TO CHAPTER 34](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20979989)

Asteroids [GO TO CHAPTER 75](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981447)


	34. Chapter 34

Buffy lost sight of the kitten almost immediately, but she didn’t care, because when Spike joined her in the private little corner, he caught her by the waist, pulling her back against him. She laughed.

“Naughty, naughty,” he said darkly into her ear. “Walking about without your knickers on.”

She shrugged elaborately. “You don’t know that.”

“Don’t I?” He wrapped his arms around her snugly. “Got a pair of pants in my pocket telling me I’m right.”

Buffy turned in his arms, slipping her hands up to lock behind his neck. “Maybe it’s all a ruse. Maybe those are decoy panties.”

Spike lifted a sardonic eyebrow. “One way to find out.” And he tucked his hands up under her skirt, taking firm hold of her ass. “Aha. I rest my case.”

“You got me, Sherlock,” she said sweetly. “Now, what are you going to do with me?”

His eyes narrowed, and one of his hands gripped tighter while the other slid around her hip to the front, and oh god he obviously knew just what he was going to do with her, and she was totally on board with his doing just what he was doing, except maybe more.

He walked her back until she was leaning against the back of the Pac-Man game, her feet half-tangled in the cords, his hand stroking surely the whole time. “You have the most delicious arse,” he said, voice as level as if he were complimenting her penmanship. The game’s _wocka-wocka-wocka_ sound effects were a surreal accompaniment to Spike’s fingers.

“Thank you,” Buffy gasped.

“Been wondering if other parts of you are just as delicious.” Was it her imagination, or were the sound effects getting louder? Oh god, maybe it was just her, because Spike had started doing something really amazing, nibbling on her throat while he did it, and she closed her eyes and thrust her hips into his hand until she came hard against his fingertips, and then she opened her eyes and…

They weren’t in the arcade.

Instead of a video game, Buffy was leaning up against a faintly-glowing wall in a black-floored corridor. Down the very center of the hallway, in both directions, was a line of glowing yellow spheres, spaced evenly every few feet; in each direction, the corridor seemed to turn a corner and continue.

Spike was still nibbling on her throat, and while Buffy gaped at their surroundings, he fell to his knees, hiking her thigh over his shoulder and oh _god_ his tongue was glorious on her, she sighed into it for a moment before shaking herself – _focus, Buffy!_ – and yanking on Spike’s hair.

He glared up at her. “What, Slayer? Date over alrea—“ His eyes popped wide and his head jerked up as he took in their surroundings. “Bloody hell.”

Buffy held out a hand and hauled him to his feet. “Honey, we’re not home,” she muttered.

“Yeah, got that part.” Spike ran a hand through his hair, eyes a bit wild. “Bloody hell.”

“You said that already.”

“Well, it bloody well bears repeating. ‘Spect I’ll be saying it again shortly.” He rolled his shoulders. “All right. Plan of attack?”

Buffy frowned left, then right. “Well, I guess we have to choose a direction… Right?”

“All right,” Spike grinned, and they started off.

Two seconds later, something huge and round and yellow came around the corner in front of them. Buffy took one look at its gaping, chomping mouth and yelped, “Left! I think left may be a better choice after all!”

“Righty-ho!” Spike agreed swiftly, grabbing her hand, and they ran in the other direction.

They turned left, and right, and another left, and suddenly they crashed into someone who was running in the opposite direction. Two someones, in fact; they all went tumbling to the ground in a tangle of legs and arms, and Buffy suddenly remembered that her underwear was in Spike’s pocket, leaping to her feet and tugging her skirt down frantically.

The other someones turned out to be Willow and Tara.

“Buffy?” Willow said owlishly as Spike helped her up. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” Buffy replied, giving Tara a hand, being all in favor of nobody having a view up her skirt at the moment. “One minute Spike and I were… hanging out in the arcade, and then we were here.”

Willow’s eyes widened. “The arcade?” She looked around assessingly. “Buffy, we’re in the video game!”

“What?”

“Bloody hell,” Spike interjected.

“No, it makes sense! The walls, and the glowy things, and just a minute ago, Tara and I were running away from a—“

“Ghost!” Tara screamed, and there it was, a floaty pixely sheet with black holes for eyes, and while it didn’t have a chompy mouth it just gave off an aura of _bad_ and that was enough to convince Buffy that they needed to get away, which was apparently also the conclusion of everyone else in the hallway; they dashed around another corner, and another, finally coming to a gasping halt at an intersection which gave them a clear view in three directions.

Buffy tugged Spike off to the side. “Hand ‘em over!” she hissed.

“Hand what over?”

“My underwear,” she gritted out.

Spike grinned as if he was going to give her a hard time, but he shoved his hand in his pocket and pressed the balled-up polka-dot panties into her hand. “Don’t bother on my account,” he said cheekily.

Buffy glared at the wadded panties, then flicked a glance at Willow and Tara, who were whispering frantically a few feet away. “Can you hold out your coat? Like a curtain?”

Spike rolled his eyes but spread the flaps of his duster wide, watching an amusement as she shoved her booted feet through the leg holes and yanked the panties up.

“Crying shame, that,” he remarked as she tugged her skirt back into place, but then another ghost rounded a corner and they were all off running again.

A few corners on, they crashed into Xander and Anya – Xander reeled against the wall, looking ill – and a bit later they discovered Giles feeling his way along one of the walls, his glasses covered in something pink.

“Well,” Buffy said brightly. “At least we’re all together.”

As one, the Scoobies looked at her askance, except for Giles, who looked at Anya askance.

“We’re trapped in a Pac-Man game,” Willow pointed out. “There’s ghosts and a chompy ball after us, and we have no idea what they can do to us if they catch us, and we also have no idea how we got here, or how we could possibly get out.”

“But we’re together,” Buffy said stoutly. “I just know we can find a way.”

And eventually, they did.

But they never set foot in the carnival again.

THE END

 

Would you like to try again? [Go to Chapter 1!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20978552)

[Read the Author’s Notes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20983016)


	35. Chapter 35

Buffy accepted the huge puffy mass of cotton candy, twirled into a perfectly symmetrical cloud by the teen concessions worker – and if that wasn’t a sign of evil shenanigans, Buffy didn’t know what was. Still, it just wasn’t a carnival without cotton candy; she plucked off a bit of fluff and popped it in her mouth, the melting sensation and sharp oversweetness sending her back to the times her dad had taken her down to the pier.

But the present was, if she were honest, far more interesting; she strolled over to Spike, who had claimed a picnic table for them after paying for the cotton candy, lounging with his elbows up and scanning their surroundings for kitten sign.

She plucked off a bit of pink fluff and held it out for him; he nipped it showily out of her fingers, face thoughtful as she settled in the curve of his arm.

“See any sign of the kitten?” she asked casually, snuggling in a bit.

Spike dropped his arm to her shoulder, snuggling her in more. “Not a hair. Though I’m thinking that shed behind the Zipper seems a likely spot.”

“For the kitten to hide?”

Spike’s fingers tightened fractionally. “For privacy.”

Buffy rolled her eyes, taking another little bite of fluff. “You do realize that if we get this kitten thing squared away, we then have the rest of the night off. We can do whatever we want, for as long as we want.” She frowned at her cotton candy. Wasn’t there something else she was supposed to do tonight?

Spike gave her a measuring look. “Whatever we want?”

She looked up at him through her lashes, pointedly biting another chunk of fluff off her cloud.

“Right, then!” He clapped her on the shoulder, rolling to his feet. “Let’s find that kitten!”

*

Anya was torn as to which carnival attraction they should try next, but then she saw a sign that made her squeal.

“Well, it’s a good thing you did all that vomiting earlier! Look!”

Xander obediently looked over at the sign that read _PIE EATING CONTEST! FABULOUS PRIZES!_ and groaned, which Anya easily interpreted as an ecstatic ‘yes’; she took him by the hand and dragged him into the contest tent.

Ten minutes later, she watched happily from the edge of the stage as Xander sat in the row of contestants, hands tied behind his back, a cherry pie in front of him. He had dragged his feet when they’d first entered the tent – poor baby must still be feeling queasy – but his eyes had goggled out at the table of prizes, which had as the grand prize a diamond bracelet. The second and third place prizes were nothing to sneeze at either, but that bracelet was just obviously meant for Anya’s slim and graceful wrist, and he had gladly signed all the paperwork for entering the contest and forked over his ten-dollar entry fee.

Anya glanced over at the bracelet now, feeling a bit wistful. She and Xander had talked a bit about other diamonds, specifically the fact that she really, really, _really_ wanted an engagement ring, but he’d hemmed and hawed and stalled and finally just come out and said that he _did_ want to marry Anya, but not until he’d gotten a little more money in the bank and possibly grown old enough to legally drink the champagne toast at his own reception, which made sense to her, though you’d think the stupid laws would be flexible about newlyweds, at least when one of those newlyweds was Anya, whose actual lived years averaged out with Xander’s to more than twenty _times_ the drinking age. But he’d then gone on to point out that being married and having kids would probably mean toning down the sexcapades, and that had made even more sense to Anya, because she was _so_ not ready to hang the handcuffs up forever. So she’d agreed that waiting would be good, and when she thought on it later, she reminded herself that Xander was still really young, that even though they were the same age in body she herself had centuries of experience on him, and so maybe he did need to grow up just a bit before tying the knot.

But that was all water under the bridge now. Anya had revised her five-year plan to a ten-year plan, adjusted her investments accordingly, and she was going all out in enjoying their freewheeling sexy young lovers’ lifestyle, making sure she got as much living in as possible before she had to pack it all away and start selling Mary Kay and going to PTA meetings.

She was really going to miss those handcuffs.

She was jolted out of her musings by the starting bell, and looked up to see Xander burying his face in his pie.

She couldn’t really see what he was doing, because the pie was in the way, but that meant he was doing it right, getting his tongue in and turning his head from side to side to get as much pie as possible without any wasted movement, and Anya shivered, because imagining what his tongue was doing to the pie made her then imagine his tongue doing those very things to her, which she knew from experience was a really, really good thing. That was the nice thing about having a boyfriend who liked to eat; he was a blue-ribbon-gold-medal champ at oral sex.

And possibly a champ at pie tonight – he was the first to lift his head, jerking his chin for more as he chewed, and then he was buried in the next pie and Anya was buried in her fantasies again.

It was a close contest – the guy down at the end was a Sepulva demon, which Anya privately thought wasn’t fair, given the second stomach – but she had faith in her man, and when the final bell rang and the judges investigated each final plate, attendants untying the contestants’ hands, her faith was vindicated. They raised Xander’s arm overhead in victory and he beamed down at her, face covered in cherry goo.

God, she loved him.

*

“Oh, darnit! Not another Pidgey!”

Andrew pouted in frustration as he stared at the screen of his Very Smart Phone. He’d just managed, through wily strategy and a mean curveball, to capture a Great Pokémon of Legend, and he had thought he was on his way to bigger and better things, truly destined to become the Greatest Pokémon Master of All Time. The Very Best, Like No-One Ever Was. How was he supposed to do that if he had to keep wasting his time on frickin’ _Pidgeys_?

 _Ah, well_ , he sighed in resignation, sitting down on a bench so he could do his Pokémon Master duty. _It is not by great deeds alone that wars are won…_ Was that a quote from somewhere? It really should be. He made a note to write it down later for his memoirs, just in case it was an Andrew Wells Original.

“That’s right, little Pidgey,” he crooned, lining up his Poké Ball. “You may just be a little chick in a big future-mall, but together, we can change the world….”

“Whatcha got there?”

Andrew looked up from his Very Smart Phone to see Jonathan looking down at him curiously. “Nothing!” he said hastily, shoving the phone in his pocket. “Just, you know. Nintendo.”

Warren strolled up then, and Andrew gave him a suspicious glare. Future Andrew had warned about Jonathan and Warren, but Andrew had a sneaking suspicion that Warren was the evil mastermind behind the nefarious plans of which he now had foreknowledge. Which made him both kinda hinky and kinda cool.

 _Not as cool as Future Me_ , Andrew reassured himself. Warren didn’t even have a leather duster. He just wore, like, T-shirts and flannels.

“So, you coming over for games this weekend?”

Had Warren’s voice always been that oily? “Maybe,” Andrew hedged. “I might have chores.”

“Well, you can always come by tonight. This carnival kinda blows, we were heading home in a bit. Interested?”

“Maybe,” Andrew mumbled again, but Warren clapped him on the back like he’d just given an enthusiastic _yes_.

“All right! We were going to go grab some chili-bacon-jalapeño dogs, you in?”

“No, uh… jalapeños give me gas.”

Warren laughed, too loudly. “Whoa, yeah, let’s not go there before the big game session then. My parents’ basement doesn’t have any ventilation. How’s about we meet you at the entrance, then? Say twenty minutes?”

Andrew didn’t even have a chance to answer before Warren and Jonathan, the Evil Duo of Future Evilness, strolled off towards the food stands.

“I’m not going,” he muttered to himself, pulling out his Very Smart Phone and staring at it glumly. The Pidgey had long since flown. He hadn’t even gotten to see the amusing little puff of smoke. There weren’t any other Pokémon around to catch, either.

He sat on the bench, all alone.

*

Buffy caught a glimpse of the calico kitten just a few minutes later, darting past a couple of orange-striped barricades into a huge, bright wooden building. It was painted in every color of the rainbow with images of clowns and balloons and oddly-colored animals – _a purple giraffe?_ – and the whole thing was lit up with thousands of lights, though it seemed a lot of the lightbulbs needed replacing. Huge blinking letters across the front of the building read _FUNHOUSE_. Painted banners winding through the chaotic mural promised _WACKY HIJINKS! HALL OF MIRRORS! SLIDES! UPSIDE-DOWN ROOM! HALL OF HORRORS! BARREL OF FUN!_ Despite the lights, a huge sign in front of the barricades read _ATTRACTION CLOSED FOR RENOVATION_.

Buffy grinned up at Spike. “You up for some fun?”

He curled his tongue behind his teeth. “Always.”

They followed the kitten into the funhouse.

*

Willow and Tara stopped partway along the midway to watch a street magician who had set up a table between the arcade and the churros stand.

He was good, making balls and coins disappear and reappear with such alacrity and showmanship that Willow frowned. “Is he using real magic?”

Tara shook her head. “Just sleight of hand. Can’t you feel it?”

Willow smiled sheepishly. “Sorry. I’m not really as sensitive as you are.”

“Here.” Tara wound her fingers in Willow’s more tightly, letting her eyelids flutter closed. “Tune in with me.”

Oh, Willow loved when Tara would do this, open up her soul so the two of them could kind of flow together, attuned to each other and to the world around them; she closed her own eyes and let go.

The world was more beautiful through Tara eyes – Willow only got a pale shadow of it, but the passersby were suddenly glowing with all the colors of the rainbow, and the earth beneath their feet seemed to hum, and she turned her Tara-eyes on the magician, and she could see it now, how his aura was all-over the same, without the tingles and zips that Tara had taught her meant magical energies were at work.

“What’s that grey patch, right at the middle?” she whispered.

Tara looked over at her then. “Hunger. He… he probably hasn’t eaten for a while.”

Willow shook out of the trance, looking at the magician again with her own eyes. Now that she knew to look for it, she could see that his hands were trembling slightly. The battered top hat on the ground in front of his table had only a few dollars in it – probably his own, left there as a suggestion.

With another glance at Tara, Willow dug into her purse. She didn’t have a lot, though, and wouldn’t until financial aid for the fall came in. Tara added her few dollars to the fund, and they tucked them into the hat with a smile.

“That’ll get him something tonight,” Willow said with satisfaction.

“And tomorrow?” Tara’s eyes were worried.

Willow looked at the passersby, who were barely glancing the magician’s direction. “It’s a shame nobody’s watching. He’s really good.”

Tara gripped her hand tightly again. “We could help.”

“Could we? That wouldn’t upset the balance? Or upset him?”

“We won’t do anything to his act. He’s good enough that if people just look, they’ll enjoy. And we won’t _make_ anything happen. We’ll just… ask.”

They stepped off out of the path, between two tents, and Tara took both of Willow’s hands in hers, closing her eyes. “He just needs people to look, right? So we’ll call upon the light.”

Willow nodded and closed her own eyes, feeling the energies surging up through her feet from the earth, through Tara’s hands and back, around and around and around, all connected and natural, flowing like water, and she could feel Tara with her, their hearts synchronizing and their souls embracing, and together they sent out their humble request to the light, and the light answered.

There was a gasp from the crowd, and they peeked around the edge of the tent to see a brilliant lightshow following the magician’s movements. A passing family stopped to look, and then a couple, and then more, until he had a small crowd. The lightshow faded quickly, but they had been right – once the magician had an audience, they liked what they saw, and money started to come to his hat – not a magical rain of coins, like Willow might once have tried to create, but honest money given freely for honest entertainment.

“There,” Tara said with satisfaction. “That was a good thing.”

“You know what else is a good thing?” Willow said slyly, tugging Tara back between the tents. “You.”

Their magic was better without a crowd.

*

Giles stumbled wearily onward. He had found a spigot, a sink, and a water fountain, all of which had refused to yield water when he approached, and had finally lowered himself to wiping his glasses on the tail of his shirt, only to find that the candy floss had hardened like epoxy, resisting all his efforts to wipe or scrape it away, and so he had resigned himself to near-blindness, holding his glasses in his hand as he wandered through the indistinct blobs of the fair, hoping against hope that one of the blobs would turn out to be Buffy.

The fair was most definitely evil, and he felt she should know.

He tripped again, and his glasses flew out of his grasp, landing on the ground in front of them. There was no sound of shattering, though, so he crouched down and felt around until he found them, resting in a pile of something soft.

He lifted his glasses and looked ruefully at their new coating of brown.

“Elephant dung. Perfect.”

*

For a closed attraction, the funhouse was remarkably well-lit, though there were things Buffy thought were probably supposed to move that weren’t. They passed through a hallway that looked like it was meant to tilt side to side, and through the non-rolling Barrel of Fun, catching occasional glimpses of the kitten’s tail as it ran on ahead of them.

Buffy knew they could probably catch up to the kitten if they put on a burst of speed, but she was very aware that they were the only people in this entire building, that they had the funhouse all to themselves, and she couldn’t resist milking the situation, squeezing Spike’s hand and running the occasional hand over his arm or his back or his ass – possibly putting a little more emphasis on the last of those three – and he was returning her caresses, little strokes that made her shiver, until finally he boxed her in against a wall and kissed her hard.

She smiled teasingly, brandishing her cotton candy like a mace. “Careful, Spikey. I know how to use this.”

“Do you?” he murmured into her jaw.

Buffy glanced around, noting a bench that was set opposite a set of wavy novelty mirrors, the type that warped your reflection to make you look like Mr. Potato Head or Jessica Rabbit, and she tugged Spike towards it, nudging him around until he sat, looking up at her in barely-leashed anticipation. She stepped forward until she was between his spread knees.

“Here, have a bite,” she said sweetly, plucking off a bit and holding it out to him.

He caught her wrist in his hand, neatly nipping the bit of cotton candy out of her hand, his tongue flicking out to lick her thumb, and she shuddered. His eyes narrowed, and he reached out and snagged a twist of pink fluff between his own fingers, holding it out for her.

She couldn’t resist swirling her own tongue around his fingers as the fluffy candy melted, licking off every bit of sugar, and then she held out another piece for him, and oh, he just sucked her fingertips right into his mouth, running his tongue along the calloused pads of her fingertips, and her knees threatened to buckle.

Buffy had been self-conscious about her hands since she had been called. She did her best, giving herself regular manicures, trimming and filing and buffing and polishing, but she had learned early on in her slaying career that the joy of shiny long nails was a lot less joyful when they were getting ripped and chipped in combat, or when she had to clean gross black demon blood out from under them, and so now she kept them short and simple, relying on press-on nails for special occasions. (At least when those ripped off they didn’t take skin with them.) But even with her nails neat and buffed, there was nothing she could do about the callouses left on her palms and fingers from years of wielding rough wooden stakes and axes and swords and crossbows. And while she indulged in lotions and washed her dishes with Palmolive and did all the right things to soften her hands, the callouses were there to stay until she retired from slayage. Which, well, she wouldn’t get to do until she died, so she didn’t consider that a valid option. Instead she had written off “pretty, touchable hands” as one of those things slayers didn’t get to have, like a good night’s sleep and Social Security.

But a side effect of this self-consciousness was… consciousness. Her hands were her weapons and her tools, her paintbrushes in the art of slaying; they were _her_ in so many ways, even the hard ridges and scars like mirrors of the greater Buffy, and she was always aware of where they were, what they were touching, how they felt. The fact that they weren’t “touchable” heightened the sensation of every touch, making each caress into a miracle.

And oh, how she loved having her fingers kissed.

They fed each other the cotton candy, taking turns licking and kissing the sticky floss off each other’s fingers, and somewhere along the line Buffy oozed down into his lap, straddling him, and when the cotton candy was gone she dropped the denuded paper tube and set her fingers on his lips again, and he took the hint, tenderly kissing and licking each fingertip while his own hands curved around under her skirt, sticky fingers delving under her panties to cup her ass, pulling her snug against him. God, she could feel his cock hard against her, and she slowly pulsed her hips against him, matching the rhythm of his tongue, closing her eyes and shifting until she found just the right spot, the sweet friction sending her up and up….

But then of course there was a _meow_ , and they both looked up to see the calico kitten staring at them inquisitively from a doorway with the words _HALL OF HORRORS_ in spooky slime-green paint above it.

“Bloody hell,” Spike muttered.

Buffy sighed in frustration, moment lost. “Hold that thought,” she said firmly. “Let’s get the kitten and then we can….” Spike nodded sharply; they disentangled themselves and started after it.

About six feet in, the pathway forked.

“Did you see which way?” Spike growled.

“Nope.”

He sighed gustily. “Bugger. Left or right, Slayer?”

Buffy didn’t bother thinking about which way the kitten might have gone, because now that the kitten was actually out of sight again, it was also right out of her mind, which was back to focusing on exactly one thing. She reached out and stroked a hand across the front of Spike’s jeans, firm and decisive, and when he raised startled eyes to hers she smiled seductively.

“Come and get me, Spike!” she laughed, and ran.

 

Which way does Buffy go?

Go left [GO TO CHAPTER 36](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20980439)

Go Right [GO TO CHAPTER 41](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20980577)


	36. Chapter 36

Buffy darted off to the left, laughing, Spike hot on her heels. The Hall of Horrors was probably intended to be frightening, but Buffy was _so_ not the target audience for glow-in-the-dark ghosties and cheesy alien autopsies, and it was hard to be scared by fakey-movie-Dracula when you’d met and staked the real thing.

She stopped briefly at the entrance to a huge room done up as a graveyard, Styrofoam headstones illuminated by swaths of tiny Christmas lights, undoubtedly meant to simulate a starry night. A glowing lamp off to one side, behind a few straggly fake dead trees, was probably supposed to be the moon. Spike came up behind her, setting his hands on her shoulders.

Buffy turned in his grasp, backing away to the center of the room. “Now, this seems familiar.”

“Indeed it does,” Spike purred, sauntering after her. “Fancy meeting you in the middle of a graveyard, Slayer.” His eyes glittered in the faux-starlight.

She grinned. “Yep. I’m surprising that way. _Slay-ee_.” She tried to lean nonchalantly against one of the headstones, but it shifted under her weight, so she settled into a wide-legged stance instead, arms crossed defiantly.

Spike fell into her game of pretend without missing a beat. “Been hunting you, pet.”

“Funny. And here I thought I’d been hunting you.” Buffy started to circle around, pulling out a stake and twirling it flashily. “Tonight, you’re going down.”

Spike’s eyes flared. “Mmm. I’m shaking in my boots.” He looked her up and down. “But I think I can take you.”

“You can try,” Buffy laughed, and lunged forward at the same time as he did, dropping the stake to wrestle him down to the ground, straddling his hips and pressing his shoulders into the cheap astroturf. He glared up at her, teeth bared in an obvious effort not to laugh, a curious light in his eyes, and one look sent Buffy into a fit of giggles.

Spike rolled his eyes. “Bugger. Thought we were playing Little Red and the Wolf, not bloody Laugh-In.”

“Sorry!” Buffy snickered. “It’s just…” She poked at the nearest gravestone with her pinky, sending it toppling over.

Spike craned his neck to look around. “Suppose it is rather lacking in the ambiance department.” He heaved his hips, rolling Buffy over so he was looking down at her. “But it does have the other thing you wanted.”

Buffy looked up at him, suddenly spellbound. “What’s that?” she said softly.

“Privacy.”

She snorted out another laugh, interrupting Spike’s deliberate slide into a kiss.

“Sorry!” she apologized again through her laughter. “It’s just… the way you said it. PRIV-acy.”

He glared down at her. “That’s the way it’s supposed to be said, love. You bloody Americans are the ones buggering up the Queen’s English.”

With a Herculean effort of will, Buffy managed to straighten her face. “All right. I’m done.”

“All right then.” Spike resumed his slow, dramatic descent to claim her lips.

“Spike?” Buffy whispered when he was a bare millimeter away.

“Yes, love?”

She kept her voice low and seductive. “What do bugs have to do with it anyways?”

Spike stared at her for a long moment before swearing and rolling away, throwing an arm over his face as Buffy burst into laughter again. She rolled after him, curling into his chest as she sobbed with mirth, and he wrapped his arms around her, sighing.

“You are going to be the death of me,” he muttered.

“That’s the plan,” Buffy giggled, and then pressed her lips to his.

She was still laughing, and soon so was he, lips quivering against hers, and then they flowed from hilarity right into passion, because Spike was right, they were finally private, or PRIV-ate, or however Spike would say it, and it was like the laughter had let loose the deluge, sending everything that had been building all evening rushing out all at once, until they were wrestling for real, hands fumbling desperately at clothing.

Buffy yanked Spike up to sitting so she could shove his duster off his shoulders; he wriggled free of the sleeves and pulled her shirt over her head, hands roughly covering her naked breasts as she arched back before tearing at _his_ shirt, nearly ripping it in her eagerness to get it off, and then she scooted back to unfasten his jeans, yanking them down to his knees and giving his cock a little _hello_ lick on her way back up, and then she was half-lying across him, wriggling out of her panties while he helped, or hindered, his big hands stroking her back to full arousal, and all the while they were laughing between kisses and groans, until finally they were naked everywhere important and Buffy rose above him feeling joyful as she took his cock into herself, deep and fierce and free.

Spike was still laughing, faint and disbelieving, but his hands were serious, finding just the right places to stroke and pinch to drive Buffy over the edge, and when her rhythm broke and she shuddered with ecstasy, he took her waist in his hands and rolled her over until her bare back was pressed into the rough plastic grass, tucking his hands behind her knees and pushing them up to her shoulders, and Buffy laughed again.

“I can do the splits if you want to check my flexibility,” she gasped, still quivering with aftershocks.

Spike just laughed back evilly and drove into her and god oh god, suddenly she understood, because he was so deep, deeper than she had thought possible, and she was all open to him, spread out and pinned like a butterfly, and tears were leaking from the corners of her eyes because she had never imagined this, the joy and the intensity and the carnal power, and everything inside her was fluttering, a thousand beating wings, and she opened her eyes to the myriad lights overhead and laughed out her joy as Spike jerked and shuddered with his own orgasm.

And then, as they both lay there quivering and spent, laughter bubbled up again, until they were wrapped around each other, dissolved into hysterics which dissolved into kisses which dissolved in turn into a gasping détente.

Buffy was just starting to feel embarrassed about the whole half-naked-in-a-fake-cemetery thing –especially since they had managed to demolish most of the foam headstones when they were rolling about – when Spike pressed a rough kiss to the top of her head.

“God, I love you,” he whispered urgently.

She laughed brokenly. “And here I thought I was going to be the death of you.”

“You are,” he said, shrugging. “Love that about you, too.”

A reply was hovering on her lips – she wasn’t even sure what, it had just bubbled up from inside like the laughter and the desire and the joy – when she was interrupted by a plaintive mew. The calico kitten was sitting on the crumbled remains of one of the foam gravestones, peering at them curiously, which made Buffy suddenly painfully aware that she had a whole lot of naked going on, and she reluctantly pushed herself to standing, wondering where her panties had gone.

She had just spotted them dangling from a branch of an ersatz tree when Spike rolled to his feet, snagging the kitten by the scruff of the neck and striding over to pop it in the basket with the other two.

“That’s settled then,” he said with such an air of smug satisfaction that Buffy was quite certain he wasn’t talking about the kitten. She might have given him grief about it, except… Well. He wasn’t the only one feeling satisfied.

At least for the moment.

[GO TO CHAPTER 94](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981942)


	37. Chapter 37

Buffy grinned up at Spike. “Think I might like to go for a ride,” she said sweetly, and sauntered around to the car door. She opened it, half-expecting a dimensional portal or some bigger-on-the-inside trick, but instead she saw… a milk crate.

Spike peered over her shoulder. “Fancy that. No seats at all.”

The interior of the tiny VW had been stripped down to the floor, which was covered with a thin layer of cushioning foam. Even the partition between the body of the car and the trunk had been removed, leaving a surprising amount of space. The windows were painted on the inside with a tiny slit for the driver to see out of, and a single low milk crate sat where the driver’s seat should be.

The part of Buffy’s brain that had always kind of wondered about the logistics of the clowns and the car noted down all these interesting things for later consideration. The rest of her brain cells – really, the vast majority of them, and the notes-taking cells did their job quickly and then joined with the rest – looked at the interior of the car and saw one thing:

A spacious, private, comfortable space in which a slayer and her vampire could be completely and totally alone.

Spike apparently saw the same thing, because his arms snaked around her waist suggestively and he started to kiss down her neck again. “Get in, Slayer,” he murmured softly. Buffy half-expected him to follow up with some cheesy car-related innuendo, but he just sighed into a deeper embrace, lips brushing her ear, and whispered, “Been wanting to fuck you all night,” and it sent a ripple of something hot and desperate all through her body, because so had she, except more than just all night, she’d been wanting him for days, for weeks, for months, hiding behind arguments and teasing and jokes and insults, and now it was like all the words fell away, and it was just them, they didn’t need to hide from each other anymore. So she nodded, sinking into him for just a moment before crawling into the shell of a car.

She still had the snow cone, which made the crawling difficult, but she didn’t want to give it up either, and Spike took the decision out of her hands a moment later, plucking it from her fingers and tucking it into a crevice in the door, and then he just oozed up next to her and started kissing her again, slow and sweet, as if this was the first time they’d ever touched, and Buffy sighed into it, because it kind of was, all the frantic desperation of the night melting away into syrupy sweetness.

They undressed slowly but purposefully, tenderly unwrapping each other until they were both naked, lying atop Spike’s duster, sweetly tangled together, and oh, it was beautiful, Spike’s hands strong and passionate, his body hard against her, chests and feet and throats, every part of her finding every part of him, learning his skin, reading his bones, and then he pressed her back into the black leather, leaning over her, eyes laughing.

“You haven’t eaten your treat,” he said, and then the snow cone was in his hand, and Buffy looked up at him and smiled, feeling dark and naughty and joyful, and opened her mouth wide.

He spooned a bit of melting ice and raspberry syrup in, neatly, and she sucked it off the spoon, watching his face as he watched her, and then he scooped up another bit of ice, but instead of feeding it to her, he dropped it right in the center of her chest, between her breasts. She gasped from the cold, and then his tongue was there, licking it off, and she gasped again from the sheer pleasure of it, and he popped another bit of raspberry ice in her open mouth before depositing a spoonful right in the hollow of her throat and sucking it up, and then another for her, and then his next spoonful landed right on her nipple, cold cold ice and then his cool mouth sucking, and they took turns back and forth, Buffy closing her eyes and sinking into a dream of icy sweetness on her tongue and sharp bursts of cold on her breasts and her belly and her thighs and Spike’s insistent mouth turning the cold into pleasure, and when he dumped the last bits of ice and syrup on her pussy, his tongue licking up the sticky mess, she opened her eyes and met his along the shivering length of her body, and she smiled.

He crawled slowly up her body, like a panther, and she pulled him down into a kiss, his tongue cold as ice against hers, and she tilted her hips and reached down to guide him into her, eyes fastened on his, and oh god oh god, the feel of him inside her at last was a revelation; she gazed up at him, panting, and he looked down at her, his eyes somehow surprised, and then he rested his elbows on either side of her head and began to move, brushing little sweet kisses across her lips with each stroke, watching her as if he feared she might disappear at any moment.

Buffy slid her hands along his back, feeling his muscles flex beneath her fingers, cupping his ass as he clenched and thrust, slow and rhythmic, savoring each deep thrust, urgent and lazy at the same time, and she hooked her ankles at the small of his back, matching his pace with thrusts and clenches of her own, until the laziness melted away and only the urgency was left, their bodies pounding together relentlessly, eyes locked and breath panting, and then Spike’s eyes narrowed and he broke the rhythm, syncopating and surprising, and she came with a shocked gasp, pulsing around him as he drove into her harder and faster until he gasped out his own pleasure, sinking into a deep, exhausted kiss before collapsing beside her.

Buffy wrapped him in her arms and held him tight, so he knew she was real.

After a bit, he rolled to his side to look at her, tracing a finger along her cheek. “God, I love you,” he said softly. She smiled at him, reaching out her own hand to his face, brushing her thumb across his high cheekbone, opening her mouth to speak, but he planted a swift hard kiss in her palm and went on. “Don’t say anything,” he murmured. “Not the truth or a lie or bloody anything. Just keep looking at me like that, yeah?”

So she did, until she started to feel silly, and then she laughed, and so did he, and she took him by the shoulders and rolled him over until he was on his back and she was looking down at him, feeling open and joyful and free.

“I was promised a ride,” she whispered.

He smiled up at her, like sunlight. “Far be it from me to break a promise to my lady.”

She held him to it.

*

Eventually Buffy had to admit that their hour was probably coming to an end – if it hadn’t long since – and she sighed and pulled her clothing back on, scooting over to the door and helping Spike out once they were decent again, or at least as decent as they could get without a shower and fresh clothing.

Spike gave her a last tender kiss and started poking around the corners of the storage tent, finally diving behind a wig rack and coming out with the black kitten, which meowed and wriggled petulantly.

“That’s three,” he said, voice dripping with satisfaction that Buffy was very certain had very little to do with the kitten-capture, because he sounded just like she felt.

Overflowing. 

 

[GO TO CHAPTER 94](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981942)

 


	38. Chapter 38

“Whatever.” Buffy turned to Giles. “Got any ideas what to do with him?”

“I believe I could make a few phone calls, when I am once again able to read the numbers on a telephone. There are groups that could ensure he is properly… restrained.” He shrugged. “Failing that, I’m quite willing to give him a good thrashing myself.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Buffy lugged Ethan off to Giles’s convertible.

“Buffy, I suspect the trunk is too small for a man of Ethan’s…” Giles trailed off as Buffy folded Ethan into the tiny trunk and shut it decisively. “Well. I suppose it’s not a very long trip.” He took his glasses off, squinting at them ruefully. “Xander, perhaps you should drive.”

Xander nodded, licking the last bits of cherry pie filling off his fingers.

“Oooh! Shotgun!” Anya’s hand shot up.

Giles glared in her general direction. “I will not squeeze into the back seat of my own vehicle like a bloody sardine.”

Anya’s face fell. “Four people in the back seat isn’t any fun if Xander’s not there. Even if he does take up half the space.”

Buffy sighed. “It won’t be four people. I’ll walk back to town.”

“Buffy, are you sure?” Tara asked with a worried frown. “We don’t mind being a little smooshed.”

“Nah, it’s good.” Buffy smiled, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s no more than I usually walk on patrol. You all go ahead and I’ll catch up. Just save some of the pummeling for me, ‘kay?”

Buffy waved cheerily as the Scoobies piled into the convertible, the basket of kittens settled securely onto Willow’s lap, and drove off down the road.

“You’re walking, are you?” Spike stepped forward into her peripheral vision.

She shrugged casually. “Better me than any of them.” She started on her way.

He fell in beside her. “Huh. You know, I have a car, I can…”

“Spike.” She stopped in her tracks, taking a deep breath.

“Yes, Buffy?” God, his voice was so… when had it started sounding like dessert to her? All melty and delicious and probably-bad-for-you-but-who-cared?

“I need to… can we… can I just say something without you busting in and going all snarky and British and making me want to punch you in the nose?”

“Yeah.” He rolled his eyes at her pointed look. “Well, okay, probably not, but go ahead.”

Buffy heaved another deep breath before taking the plunge. “Tonight was… well, it _was_ , and I don’t think we can go back to the way we were last week. And I really don’t want to. I don’t want to be friends anymore.”  She heard him take in a breath to argue and elbowed him before he could butt in. “Not _just_ friends. I don’t know… I don’t know where this is going, not at all. I feel like there’s a hundred different ways it could turn out, a hundred paths we could find ourselves on – maybe good, maybe bad. But… I’m willing to give it a try, if you are.”

He looked blank. “Give what a try?”

God, was he being deliberately thick? “This. This thing. You and me. Um… dating?”

“Huh.” He sounded baffled, and Buffy couldn’t help but hold her breath, because…this was hard. Harder than kissing, harder than sex, harder than any of what had happened tonight, because now something important was on the line. Finally Spike sighed, and raised his eyebrows, eyes vaguely amused. “Never really dated before. What exactly would this entail, Slayer?”

She let out her held breath in a rush of relief. “Well. We’d, you know, hang out together. Talk. Patrol together. That sort of thing.”

Spike looked thoughtful, turning away to look off into the distance. “If you don’t mind my saying so, that sounds exactly like what we’ve been doing for the past few months. The thing you don’t want.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” She slipped her hand into his duster pocket to wind her fingers with his. “Did I forget to mention the sex?”

He grinned. “I think you may have left that part out, yeah.” He squeezed her hand. “So. Sex.”

Buffy nodded, oozing around him so she was right in front of him, looking up at his face, which was soft and hopeful in the moonlight. “Lots and lots of sex.”

He nodded judiciously. “Lots, eh? That does put things in a different light.”

Oh god, she was shaking. “Would that be a different light where you say yes?”

He lifted his free hand to cup her face, and she realized he was shaking too. “Could be.”

And he bent down to kiss her, and it was sweet and honest, and she just melted, like soft gooey cream, because this… this wasn’t an interlude in some fantasy world. This was real, and it was what she’d wanted all along, she’d just been afraid of getting burned.

Spike lifted his head after a bit. “And the Scoobies?”

Buffy rubbed her cheek against his chest. “They’re not invited to the sex part.”

He gusted a sigh, wrapping his arms around her. “Thank god.”

She shrugged in his embrace. “But they’ll figure it out. Maybe in a week or so when we come up for air.”

Spike’s hands drifted lower, and his voice did too, deep and sensual and drenched in innuendo. “I don’t need to breathe, Buffy.”

She let her hands wander as well. “Bonus.”

It was an unfortunate fact that Buffy _did_ need to breathe, however, so after another round of kissage that had Buffy debating how dangerous it might be to go back and find a vacant tent, she broke free and curled into Spike’s chest, gasping.

He stroked her hair as she heaved in sweet oxygen. “My car’s just up the road,” he said finally.

“So you had mentioned,” Buffy sighed, tossing her head back. “…How big is the back seat?”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Big enough.”

Ah yes. Much better than a tent. “Sold.”

Spike and Buffy turned and ran down the road, hand in hand, leaving the lights and sounds and tastes of the carnival behind them forever.

Or at least until the next adventure.

THE END

 

Congratulations on helping Buffy and Spike solve the mystery of the Carnivorous Carnival! Would you like to try again? [Go to Chapter 1!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20978552)

[Read the Author’s Notes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20983016)


	39. Chapter 39

Buffy snatched the word “friendship” out of the air. It dissolved in her hand and she glared up at the demon defiantly.

The demon folded its many arms, until it looked rather like a huge moldy funnel cake, and rolled its glowing green eyes.

_REALLY? YOU’RE GOING WITH THAT ONE?_

It laughed uproariously, and Buffy fell back a step with dismay.

_WHAT DO YOU THINK THIS IS, MY LITTLE PONY?_

The demon untangled its arms and they writhed in a hypnotic dance, tendrils of glowing green energy winding out from dozens of fingertips, ghosting around Buffy and Spike and the Scoobies. Buffy could feel darkness washing over her, no matter how she fought it, and she sank down and down and down…

[GO TO CHAPTER 139](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982944)


	40. Chapter 40

Buffy frowned. “That’s really weird. Does anyone feel like… I don’t know, like we’ve done all this before?”

Willow and Tara looked at each other, shrugging. Xander and Anya looked at each other, shaking their heads. Giles looked at a nearby tree, confused.

Buffy shook off the pernicious feeling of déjà vu. “Never mind, I’m sure it’s nothing.” She turned to Giles. “Got any ideas what to do with him?”

“I believe I could make a few phone calls, when I am once again able to read the numbers on a telephone. There are groups that could ensure he is properly… restrained.” He shrugged. “Failing that, I’m quite willing to give him a good thrashing myself.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Buffy lugged Ethan off to Giles’s convertible.

“Buffy, I suspect the trunk is too small for a man of Ethan’s…” Giles trailed off as Buffy folded Ethan into the tiny trunk and shut it decisively. “Well. I suppose it’s not a very long trip.” He took his glasses off, squinting at them ruefully. “Xander, perhaps you should drive.”

Xander nodded, licking the last bits of cherry pie filling off his fingers.

“Oooh! Shotgun!” Anya’s hand shot up.

Giles glared in her general direction. “I will not squeeze into the back seat of my own vehicle like a bloody sardine.”

Anya’s face fell. “Four people in the back seat isn’t any fun if Xander’s not there. Even if he does take up half the space.”

Buffy sighed. “It won’t be four people. I’ll walk back to town.”

“Buffy, are you sure?” Tara asked with a worried frown. “We don’t mind being a little smooshed.”

“Nah, it’s good.” Buffy smiled, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s no more than I usually walk on patrol. You all go ahead and I’ll catch up. Just save some of the pummeling for me, ‘kay?”

Buffy waved cheerily as the Scoobies piled into the convertible, the basket of kittens settled securely onto Willow’s lap, and drove off down the road.

“You’re walking, are you?” Spike stepped forward into her peripheral vision.

She shrugged casually. “Better me than any of them.” She started on her way.

He fell in beside her. “Huh. You know, I have a car, I can…”

“Spike.” She stopped in her tracks, taking a deep breath.

“Yes, Buffy?” God, his voice was so… when had it started sounding like dessert to her? All melty and delicious and probably-bad-for-you-but-who-cared?

“I need to… can we… can I just say something without you busting in and going all snarky and British and making me want to punch you in the nose?”

“Yeah.” He rolled his eyes at her pointed look. “Well, okay, probably not, but go ahead.”

Buffy heaved another deep breath before taking the plunge. “Tonight was… well, it _was_ , and I don’t think we can go back to the way we were last week. And I really don’t want to. I don’t want to be friends anymore.”  She heard him take in a breath to argue and elbowed him before he could butt in. “Not _just_ friends. I don’t know… I don’t know where this is going, not at all. I feel like there’s a hundred different ways it could turn out, a hundred paths we could find ourselves on – maybe good, maybe bad. But… I’m willing to give it a try, if you are.”

He looked blank. “Give what a try?”

God, was he being deliberately thick? “This. This thing. You and me. Um… dating?”

“Huh.” He sounded baffled, and Buffy couldn’t help but hold her breath, because…this was hard. Harder than kissing, harder than sex, harder than any of what had happened tonight, because now something important was on the line. Finally Spike sighed, and raised his eyebrows, eyes vaguely amused. “Never really dated before. What exactly would this entail, Slayer?”

She let out her held breath in a rush of relief. “Well. We’d, you know, hang out together. Talk. Patrol together. That sort of thing.”

Spike looked thoughtful, turning away to look off into the distance. “If you don’t mind my saying so, that sounds exactly like what we’ve been doing for the past few months. The thing you don’t want.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” She slipped her hand into his duster pocket to wind her fingers with his. “Did I forget to mention the sex?”

He grinned. “I think you may have left that part out, yeah.” He squeezed her hand. “So. Sex.”

Buffy nodded, oozing around him so she was right in front of him, looking up at his face, which was soft and hopeful in the moonlight. “Lots and lots of sex.”

He nodded judiciously. “Lots, eh? That does put things in a different light.”

Oh god, she was shaking. “Would that be a different light where you say yes?”

He lifted his free hand to cup her face, and she realized he was shaking too. “Could be.”

And he bent down to kiss her, and it was sweet and honest, and she just melted, like soft gooey cream, because this… this wasn’t an interlude in some fantasy world. This was real, and it was what she’d wanted all along, she’d just been afraid of getting burned.

Spike lifted his head after a bit. “And the Scoobies?”

Buffy rubbed her cheek against his chest. “They’re not invited to the sex part.”

He gusted a sigh, wrapping his arms around her. “Thank god.”

She shrugged in his embrace. “But they’ll figure it out. Maybe in a week or so when we come up for air.”

Spike’s hands drifted lower, and his voice did too, deep and sensual and drenched in innuendo. “I don’t need to breathe, Buffy.”

She let her hands wander as well. “Bonus.”

It was an unfortunate fact that Buffy _did_ need to breathe, however, so after another round of kissage that had Buffy debating how dangerous it might be to go back and find a vacant tent, she broke free and curled into Spike’s chest, gasping.

He stroked her hair as she heaved in sweet oxygen. “My car’s just up the road,” he said finally.

“So you had mentioned,” Buffy sighed, tossing her head back. “…How big is the back seat?”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Big enough.”

Ah yes. Much better than a tent. “Sold.”

Spike and Buffy turned and ran down the road, hand in hand, leaving the lights and sounds and tastes of the carnival behind them forever.

Or at least until the next adventure.

THE END

 

Congratulations on helping Buffy and Spike solve the mystery of the Carnivorous Carnival! Would you like to try again? [Go to Chapter 1!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20978552)

[Read the Author’s Notes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20983016)


	41. Chapter 41

Buffy darted off to the right, laughing. It was weird, the feeling of purpose that energized her, the hot tingle of knowing that this was it, that she had chosen, that she was going to make love to Spike here in this funhouse, and that she was absolutely not going to regret it.

The Hall of Horrors was probably intended to be frightening, but Buffy was _so_ not the target audience for glow-in-the-dark ghosties and cheesy alien autopsies, and it was hard to be scared by fakey-movie-Dracula when you’d met and staked the real thing. She nearly hurt herself rolling her eyes when she came upon a scene of a “demon ritual” so fake it wouldn’t have scared a toddler.

But when one of the rubbery demons took a swipe at her, it sure felt real.

She dodged the slashing claws, and then the demon stepped out from its place in the tableau, and the rest of the demons began to move, Buffy realized she had interrupted an actual, honest-to-god demon ritual, that the dozen or so fakey-dakey demons were real, and that was about all she had time to realize before they were on her.

Spike caught up to her just as she was dispatching the first of the demons – she’d left most of the weapons in the car, but a broken neck was generally effective – quickly assessing the situation and taking up position on her left.

“You sharing tonight, Slayer?” he grinned.

“Maybe,” she laughed. “After all, we only have an hour. And I had plans.”

“Plans?” Spike fended off a blow.

“ _Naked_ plans,” she confirmed, kicking another demon in the head.

“Well,” he laughed shortly. “Don’t see as these pathetic buggers should get in the way of that.”

Buffy sent another demon to its probably-icky reward. “You first.”

Spike cocked an eyebrow at her, snapping another neck, and then skinned out of his duster, tossing it aside before taking on another foe.

Panting from more than just exertion, Buffy threw her current opponent into another who’d been trying to flank her, whipping her shirt over her head and flinging it behind her, and god, she’d never felt like this, confident and sexy and single-minded – not when she was free of spells, not when she was one-hundred-percent Buffy. But she’d thrown down the gauntlet: one-hundred-percent Buffy one-hundred-percent wanted Spike, and so she struck a pose that showed off one hundred percent of her bare chest before diving back into battle.

“Bloody hell, Slayer,” Spike groaned, flinging another demon through a wall. “You’re a bloody menace.”

“Whinge later,” Buffy snapped out. “Strip now!”

He skinned out of his shirt between roundhouses, laughing madly, and it was Buffy’s turn; there were only a few demons left, and she was struck with inspiration, ducking behind Spike.

“Cover me!” she giggled, and Spike spread his arms wide for the demons’ charge, and in the brief respite Buffy wriggled out of her panties, tugging them over her boots, and then tossed them over Spike’s shoulder, past the demons and into the shadows of the Hall of Horrors.

Spike bashed two heads together, muttering another oath. “What the bloody hell was that?”

“What do you think?” Buffy stepped up beside him, sinking into a battle crouch.

He groaned. “Please tell me it was your knickers.”

She didn’t answer, just danced around the next demon in line to where she could unleash a flashy high kick.

Spike looked at her like she was the Holy Grail and snapped the neck of another demon. “You are bloody well asking for it,” he growled, hands going to his belt buckle.

“I am,” Buffy gasped as she took down the last demon, standing victorious amongst the corpses of her foes. “I am asking for it.” She held out her arms. “ _Give it to me_.”

He stumbled over and around the demon bodies and caught her up around the waist, spinning her around and burying his face in her bosom, and she laughed, tossing her hair back as he carried her off into the next room.

Buffy glanced around, giggling. “Really? Here?”

Spike wrapped one arm around her waist and used the other to clear the rubber alien off the autopsy table, knocking the dummy surgeons over. “Flat surface,” he grunted, laying her back on the table and fumbling at his jeans, and she sat up to help him, giving his hard cock a good stroke or two once it was free, and he laughed brokenly, set a hand in the center of her chest to push her back, and slung her legs up over his shoulders, hitching her ass to the edge of the table. Buffy was laughing again at the ridiculousness of it all when he thrust inside her and oh, she wasn’t laughing anymore, because no matter how many times she’d imagined it, alone in her shower, she’d never managed to envision this, the carnal reality of the moment, and they both stilled, looking at each other in half-crazed wonder.

Finally, Buffy swallowed. “Why are my ankles by your ears?”

Spike closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them they were dancing with wicked purpose. “Got reasons,” he grinned, and then he set his hands to her hips, withdrawing and then driving into her again, and her eyes popped open because oh. That was… it was… And then she was clutching at the table and moaning because she couldn’t think of anything but how deep he was and the delicious wet friction as he pumped into her, and she dizzily made a note to let Spike put her ankles wherever the hell he wanted because he had the best ankle-related ideas ever, and then it was all too much and she shattered, clenching tight around him in her release.

He made a noise almost like a sob, pressing a hard kiss to the side of her shin, and took her trembling thighs in his big hands, easing them down to wrap around his waist, still moving in her but lazily, as if he had all the time in the world. Buffy hooked her ankles behind his back, quivering with aftershocks, adrenaline spiraling sharply through her body, and she tilted her hips to him, urging him faster, because dammit they didn’t have all the time in the world and anyhow she was all worked up from the fight and she could tell by the way he fell into her rhythm, eyes wide and desperate and hands clutching at her, that he was too, that he was nearly insane from desire, and it didn’t take long before he was pounding into her, not holding back, looking down at her with eyes like coals, and he grinned and slid one thumb over to press down on her clit, unrelenting, and she screamed when her orgasm sliced through her. He stood still then, watching her as she came, and when she began to relax, feeling boneless and content, he scooched her up the table and climbed up with her, settling once again between the cradle of her legs, thrusting deep, and oh, it was sweet and intense, his lips tender on hers as he drove into her, and not long after he gasped, burying his head in her shoulder, and Buffy wrapped her arms around him, stroking his hair and his back as he trembled and tensed and finally relaxed.

“That was… interesting,” she said when her brain came back.

“One could put it that way, yeah,” Spike mumbled into her throat, his lips drunkenly wandering along her collarbone.

“What do we do now?” she asked, staring up at the old-fashioned surgical lamp overhead.

Spike was silent for a long time. “Well, either we get dressed and go find that bloody kitten, or…” He did something with his fingers that made Buffy’s eyes roll back in her head.

“That,” Buffy said decisively, distracted from the fact that he’d sidestepped the actual question. “Let’s do that.”

*

Eventually, though, the fact that there was a half-dissected rubber alien on the floor started to creep Buffy out, and they returned to the room full of demon corpses to retrieve their clothing. Which, okay, now that she wasn’t desperate with lust Buffy was a little grossed out by, but she found her shirt easily and then started digging around in the dusty shadows for her underwear while Spike tugged his black tee over his head.

They weren’t in the demon room, and they weren’t in the alien autopsy room, and Buffy was about to head into the fake graveyard, when they appeared in her vision, dangling from Spike’s hand.

“Looking for these?” he said in a voice dripping with satisfaction.

She rolled her eyes, snatching them out of his hand and working her booted feet through the leg holes. “Where were they?”

“Found them in the hallway.” He held up his other hand, which held the squirming calico kitten. “This little bugger was playing with them.

Buffy paused, panties halfway up her knees, then shrugged. Damp, snagged panties were better than no panties, given the length of her skirt. She pulled them the rest of the way on.

Spike tucked the kitten in the basket with its fellows. “That’s three.”

Buffy picked up his duster and held it out for him, and he gave a little head nod of acknowledgment, sliding his arms into the sleeves, and while she was smoothing the leather over his shoulders – maybe a little more than absolutely necessary, he turned his head slightly, to where she could just see the sweep of his cheekbone.

“I love you,” he said in a low, urgent voice. “You know that, right?”

Buffy slipped her arms around his waist, setting her cheek against his shoulder blade, looking off into the shadows. “I know,” she whispered at last, giving him a final squeeze then letting go.

He rolled his shoulders. “Right, then.” And then he turned to her, challenging grin on his face. “Fancy a stroll through the Hall of Horrors, love?” He held out his elbow, as if he had proposed a walk through the park.

Buffy took his arm, stepping carefully around the demonic corpses on the floor. “Don’t mind if I do,” she smiled.

They left for the rendezvous.

 

[GO TO CHAPTER 94](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981942)


	42. Chapter 42

Buffy accepted the little paper carton of deep-fried cookie dough balls with a little mental apology to those green leather pants that she might not fit into ever again, but oh they looked good, golden brown and crispy, the faintest dusting of powdered sugar along the tops.

 _I’ll just have to work off the calories somehow,_ she thought with a shrug, glancing over at Spike, who had claimed a picnic table for them after paying for the cookies, lounging with his elbows up and scanning their surroundings for kitten signs.

He could be her workout buddy.

Buffy put a little extra swing in her hips as she strolled up to him, plucking out one of the balls of batter-wrapped cookie dough, holding it out for him. He lifted an eyebrow and opened his mouth, and she popped it in.

He bit off half, taking the rest in his hand and looking at it curiously, while Buffy settled down next to him, taking a bite of her first one, crisp flaky outside and sinfully gooey cookie inside, and then Spike dropped his arm around her shoulders, and oh, talk about gooey and sinful insides, she felt like she was melting, like saying right out loud that she wanted to have sex with Spike had just opened the floodgates and now she was awash with hunger and anticipation, just the feel of his hand on her shoulder making her quiver.

“See any sign of the kitten?” she asked casually, scooching in a little closer.

Spike popped the rest of his cookie in his mouth, licking off his fingers sharply. “Not a hair. Though I’m thinking that shed behind the Zipper seems a likely spot.”

“For the kitten to hide?”

Spike’s fingers tightened fractionally. “For privacy.”

Buffy rolled her eyes, eating another gooey deep-fried cookie. “You do realize that if we get this kitten thing squared away, we then have the rest of the night off. We can do whatever we want, for as long as we want.” She frowned at her next cookie. Wasn’t there something else she was supposed to do tonight?

Spike was looking down at her, bemused. “Whatever we want?”

She looked up at him through her lashes, licking a bit of melted chocolate off her lips.

“Right, then!” He clapped her on the shoulder, rolling to his feet. “Let’s find that kitten!”

*

Anya was torn as to which carnival attraction they should try next, but then she saw a sign that made her squeal.

“Well, it’s a good thing you did all that vomiting earlier! Look!”

Xander obediently looked over at the sign that read _PIE EATING CONTEST! FABULOUS PRIZES!_ and groaned, which Anya easily interpreted as an ecstatic ‘yes’; she took him by the hand and dragged him into the contest tent.

Ten minutes later, she watched happily from the edge of the stage as Xander sat in the row of contestants, hands tied behind his back, a cherry pie in front of him. He had dragged his feet when they’d first entered the tent – poor baby must still be feeling queasy – but his eyes had goggled out at the table of prizes, which had as the grand prize a diamond bracelet. The second and third place prizes were nothing to sneeze at either, but that bracelet was just obviously meant for Anya’s slim and graceful wrist, and he had gladly signed all the paperwork for entering the contest and forked over his ten-dollar entry fee.

Anya glanced over at the bracelet now, feeling a bit wistful. She and Xander had talked a bit about other diamonds, specifically the fact that she really, really, _really_ wanted an engagement ring, but he’d hemmed and hawed and stalled and finally just come out and said that he _did_ want to marry Anya, but not until he’d gotten a little more money in the bank and possibly grown old enough to legally drink the champagne toast at his own reception, which made sense to her, though you’d think the stupid laws would be flexible about newlyweds, at least when one of those newlyweds was Anya, whose actual lived years averaged out with Xander’s to more than twenty _times_ the drinking age. But he’d then gone on to point out that being married and having kids would probably mean toning down the sexcapades, and that had made even more sense to Anya, because she was _so_ not ready to hang the handcuffs up forever. So she’d agreed that waiting would be good, and when she thought on it later, she reminded herself that Xander was still really young, that even though they were the same age in body she herself had centuries of experience on him, and so maybe he did need to grow up just a bit before tying the knot.

But that was all water under the bridge now. Anya had revised her five-year plan to a ten-year plan, adjusted her investments accordingly, and she was going all out in enjoying their freewheeling sexy young lovers’ lifestyle, making sure she got as much living in as possible before she had to pack it all away and start selling Mary Kay and going to PTA meetings.

She was really going to miss those handcuffs.

She was jolted out of her musings by the starting bell, and looked up to see Xander burying his face in his pie.

She couldn’t really see what he was doing, because the pie was in the way, but that meant he was doing it right, getting his tongue in and turning his head from side to side to get as much pie as possible without any wasted movement, and Anya shivered, because imagining what his tongue was doing to the pie made her then imagine his tongue doing those very things to her, which she knew from experience was a really, really good thing. That was the nice thing about having a boyfriend who liked to eat; he was a blue-ribbon-gold-medal champ at oral sex.

And possibly a champ at pie tonight – he was the first to lift his head, jerking his chin for more as he chewed, and then he was buried in the next pie and Anya was buried in her fantasies again.

It was a close contest – the guy down at the end was a Sepulva demon, which Anya privately thought wasn’t fair, given the second stomach – but she had faith in her man, and when the final bell rang and the judges investigated each final plate, attendants untying the contestants’ hands, her faith was vindicated. They raised Xander’s arm overhead in victory and he beamed down at her, face covered in cherry goo.

God, she loved him.

*

“Oh, darnit! Not another Pidgey!”

Andrew pouted in frustration as he stared at the screen of his Very Smart Phone. He’d just managed, through wily strategy and a mean curveball, to capture a Great Pokémon of Legend, and he had thought he was on his way to bigger and better things, truly destined to become the Greatest Pokémon Master of All Time. The Very Best, Like No-One Ever Was. How was he supposed to do that if he had to keep wasting his time on frickin’ _Pidgeys_?

 _Ah, well_ , he sighed in resignation, sitting down on a bench so he could do his Pokémon Master duty. _It is not by great deeds alone that wars are won…_ Was that a quote from somewhere? It really should be. He made a note to write it down later for his memoirs, just in case it was an Andrew Wells Original.

“That’s right, little Pidgey,” he crooned, lining up his Poké Ball. “You may just be a little chick in a big future-mall, but together, we can change the world….”

“Whatcha got there?”

Andrew looked up from his Very Smart Phone to see Jonathan looking down at him curiously. “Nothing!” he said hastily, shoving the phone in his pocket. “Just, you know. Nintendo.”

Warren strolled up then, and Andrew gave him a suspicious glare. Future Andrew had warned about Jonathan and Warren, but Andrew had a sneaking suspicion that Warren was the evil mastermind behind the nefarious plans of which he now had foreknowledge. Which made him both kinda hinky and kinda cool.

 _Not as cool as Future Me_ , Andrew reassured himself. Warren didn’t even have a leather duster. He just wore, like, T-shirts and flannels.

“So, you coming over for games this weekend?”

Had Warren’s voice always been that oily? “Maybe,” Andrew hedged. “I might have chores.”

“Well, you can always come by tonight. This carnival kinda blows, we were heading home in a bit. Interested?”

“Maybe,” Andrew mumbled again, but Warren clapped him on the back like he’d just given an enthusiastic _yes_.

“All right! We were going to go grab some chili-bacon-jalapeño dogs, you in?”

“No, uh… jalapeños give me gas.”

Warren laughed, too loudly. “Whoa, yeah, let’s not go there before the big game session then. My parents’ basement doesn’t have any ventilation. How’s about we meet you at the entrance, then? Say twenty minutes?”

Andrew didn’t even have a chance to answer before Warren and Jonathan, the Evil Duo of Future Evilness, strolled off towards the food stands.

“I’m not going,” he muttered to himself, pulling out his Very Smart Phone and staring at it glumly. The Pidgey had long since flown. He hadn’t even gotten to see the amusing little puff of smoke. There weren’t any other Pokémon around to catch, either.

He sat on the bench, all alone.

*

Buffy caught a glimpse of the calico kitten just a few minutes later, darting past a couple of orange-striped barricades into a huge, bright wooden building. It was painted in every color of the rainbow with images of clowns and balloons and oddly-colored animals – _a purple giraffe?_ – and the whole thing was lit up with thousands of lights, though it seemed a lot of the lightbulbs needed replacing. Huge blinking letters across the front of the building read _FUNHOUSE_. Painted banners winding through the chaotic mural promised _WACKY HIJINKS! HALL OF MIRRORS! SLIDES! UPSIDE-DOWN ROOM! HALL OF HORRORS! BARREL OF FUN!_ Despite the lights, a huge sign in front of the barricades read _ATTRACTION CLOSED FOR RENOVATION_.

Buffy grinned up at Spike. “You up for some fun?”

He curled his tongue behind his teeth. “Always.”

They followed the kitten into the funhouse.

*

Willow and Tara stopped partway along the midway to watch a street magician who had set up a table between the arcade and the churros stand.

He was good, making balls and coins disappear and reappear with such alacrity and showmanship that Willow frowned. “Is he using real magic?”

Tara shook her head. “Just sleight of hand. Can’t you feel it?”

Willow smiled sheepishly. “Sorry. I’m not really as sensitive as you are.”

“Here.” Tara wound her fingers in Willow’s more tightly, letting her eyelids flutter closed. “Tune in with me.”

Oh, Willow loved when Tara would do this, open up her soul so the two of them could kind of flow together, attuned to each other and to the world around them; she closed her own eyes and let go.

The world was more beautiful through Tara eyes – Willow only got a pale shadow of it, but the passersby were suddenly glowing with all the colors of the rainbow, and the earth beneath their feet seemed to hum, and she turned her Tara-eyes on the magician, and she could see it now, how his aura was all-over the same, without the tingles and zips that Tara had taught her meant magical energies were at work.

“What’s that grey patch, right at the middle?” she whispered.

Tara looked over at her then. “Hunger. He… he probably hasn’t eaten for a while.”

Willow shook out of the trance, looking at the magician again with her own eyes. Now that she knew to look for it, she could see that his hands were trembling slightly. The battered top hat on the ground in front of his table had only a few dollars in it – probably his own, left there as a suggestion.

With another glance at Tara, Willow dug into her purse. She didn’t have a lot, though, and wouldn’t until financial aid for the fall came in. Tara added her few dollars to the fund, and they tucked them into the hat with a smile.

“That’ll get him something tonight,” Willow said with satisfaction.

“And tomorrow?” Tara’s eyes were worried.

Willow looked at the passersby, who were barely glancing the magician’s direction. “It’s a shame nobody’s watching. He’s really good.”

Tara gripped her hand tightly again. “We could help.”

“Could we? That wouldn’t upset the balance? Or upset him?”

“We won’t do anything to his act. He’s good enough that if people just look, they’ll enjoy. And we won’t _make_ anything happen. We’ll just… ask.”

They stepped off out of the path, between two tents, and Tara took both of Willow’s hands in hers, closing her eyes. “He just needs people to look, right? So we’ll call upon the light.”

Willow nodded and closed her own eyes, feeling the energies surging up through her feet from the earth, through Tara’s hands and back, around and around and around, all connected and natural, flowing like water, and she could feel Tara with her, their hearts synchronizing and their souls embracing, and together they sent out their humble request to the light, and the light answered.

There was a gasp from the crowd, and they peeked around the edge of the tent to see a brilliant lightshow following the magician’s movements. A passing family stopped to look, and then a couple, and then more, until he had a small crowd. The lightshow faded quickly, but they had been right – once the magician had an audience, they liked what they saw, and money started to come to his hat – not a magical rain of coins, like Willow might once have tried to create, but honest money given freely for honest entertainment.

“There,” Tara said with satisfaction. “That was a good thing.”

“You know what else is a good thing?” Willow said slyly, tugging Tara back between the tents. “You.”

Their magic was better without a crowd.

*

Giles stumbled wearily onward. He had found a spigot, a sink, and a water fountain, all of which had refused to yield water when he approached, and had finally lowered himself to wiping his glasses on the tail of his shirt, only to find that the candy floss had hardened like epoxy, resisting all his efforts to wipe or scrape it away, and so he had resigned himself to near-blindness, holding his glasses in his hand as he wandered through the indistinct blobs of the fair, hoping against hope that one of the blobs would turn out to be Buffy.

The fair was most definitely evil, and he felt she should know.

He tripped again, and his glasses flew out of his grasp, landing on the ground in front of them. There was no sound of shattering, though, so he crouched down and felt around until he found them, resting in a pile of something soft.

He lifted his glasses and looked ruefully at their new coating of brown.

“Elephant dung. Perfect.”

*

For a closed attraction, the funhouse was remarkably well-lit, though there were things Buffy thought were probably supposed to move that weren’t. They passed through a hallway that looked like it was meant to tilt side to side, and through the non-rolling Barrel of Fun, catching occasional glimpses of the kitten’s tail as it ran on ahead of them.

Buffy knew they could probably catch up to the kitten if they put on a burst of speed, but she was very aware that they were the only people in this entire building, that they had the funhouse all to themselves, and she couldn’t resist milking the situation, squeezing Spike’s hand and running the occasional hand over his arm or his back or his ass – possibly putting a little more emphasis on the last of those three – and he was returning her caresses, little strokes that made her shiver, until finally he boxed her in against a wall and kissed her hard.

She smiled teasingly, holding up the carton of deep-fried cookie dough bites. “What’s the rush, tiger? I’m still eating here.”

He took the carton from her hand. “Then let me help you,” he purred, plucking out a cookie bite and holding it out for her.

She looked at it, then up at him, feeling wicked. “We could share,” she suggested.

“Excellent idea,” he murmured, and she took the fried ball in her mouth, biting into the gooey chocolatey sweetness, and he leaned in and bit off half of it, his lips brushing hers, and then there was another piece, another shared bite, and then another, and they ate the rest of the cookies together until they were all gone and Spike dropped the carton and took her face in his hands and kissed her, tasting of chocolate and sugar and butter, and Buffy kissed him back like she’d been on a diet forever, wrapping herself around him.

He broke from their kiss and pressed his forehead to hers, eyes closed. “You’re bloody determined we wait until after the bloody kitten?” He nibbled suggestively at her earlobe.

“Determined is… such a strong word,” Buffy panted, running her hands along his back.

“Open to negotiation?” Spike murmured, running a hand across her breast.

“Uh-huh,” she moaned.

But then of course there was a meow, and they both looked up to see the kitten staring at them inquisitively from a doorway with the words _HALL OF MIRRORS_ in glittery silver paint above it.

“Bloody hell,” Spike muttered.

Buffy sighed. “Let’s just get it,” she muttered grouchily, and they disentangled themselves and started after it.

About six feet in, the pathway forked.

“Did you see which way?” Spike growled.

“Nope.”

He sighed gustily. “Bugger. Left or right, Slayer?”

Buffy didn’t bother thinking about which way the kitten might have gone, because now that the kitten was actually out of sight again, it was also right out of her mind, which was back to focusing on exactly one thing. She reached out and stroked a hand across the front of Spike’s jeans, firm and decisive, and when he raised startled eyes to hers she smiled seductively.

“Come and get me, Spike!” Buffy laughed, and ran.

 

Which way does Buffy go?

Go left [GO TO CHAPTER 121](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982491)

Go right [GO TO CHAPTER 68](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981156)


	43. Chapter 43

Spike followed Buffy behind the game, but as soon as they were out of sight – had there been anyone in the deserted corner of the arcade to see them – he dropped the basket and gave her hand a tug and a twist, and Buffy found herself pinned up against the back of the machine, Spike’s hands pressing her wrists into the wood by her hips.

“You trying to make me dust?” he demanded, eyes fixed on her mouth.

Buffy smiled up at him, wickedly. “Now, where would you get that idea? I was just eating some traditional carnival food and riding a traditional carnival ride. Like one does at a carnival.”

Spike groaned and set his lips to hers, and Buffy kissed him back, hungrily. In the dim, abandoned corner, it felt like they had all the time in the world, like they could go on kissing forever, and Buffy’s lips were totally on board with that.

Buffy’s lungs had other ideas, though, and when she finally reluctantly took an oxygen break, Spike caught her by the wrists again, searching her face. “This is real,” he said urgently, as if he was trying to convince himself. “This is… You want this.”

“Yes,” Buffy gasped, suddenly feeling shy.

Spike narrowed his eyes, pressing her back into the game again. Now that they were still, she could hear sound effects, little pings and chirps, and for a moment they blended together with the challenge in Spike’s eyes into something suggestive and naughty. He leaned in close, pressing his cheek against hers. “Here’s the thing, pet,” he whispered. “Way you ate that sodding cream-filled torture device earlier? Gives a bloke _ideas_.”

“Does it?” Buffy murmured back, twisting her wrists just enough so he knew she could break free but was choosing not to. “Imagine that.” She hooked one ankle around the back of his knee, tugging him closer.

He nipped at her jaw. “Makes a fellow hungry,” he continued.

Buffy shrugged. “This carnival is evil,” she said loftily. “I’m sure we can find you some deep-fried blood somewhere.” She arched up against him.

“Not hungry for blood,” Spike muttered darkly.

Buffy smiled slowly up at him. “Then what are you hungry for?” she whispered.

Spike grinned back just as slowly, tugging her arms up above her head until he had both wrists caught in one hand, his other gliding slowly down her arm and over to her face. He brushed her lower lip with his thumb. “You want to know?”

Buffy was shaking, all the way down to her toes. She nodded.

He cupped her face, brushing his thumb back and forth over her mouth. “That thing you did earlier. With the cream. Remember that?”

Buffy swirled her tongue around his thumb, sucking it into her mouth for a moment before releasing it. “You mean that?” she sighed, ducking to brush a kiss into his palm.

“God, yes, that,” Spike breathed, gliding his hand down her throat, then down along her body. “Now, love, I want you to imagine me doing that…” His hand slipped under the hem of her skirt, cupping her through her panties. “…Here.”

“Oh.” Her arms flexed involuntarily.

He started to stroke, firm strokes through the soft fabric. “What color today?” he said suddenly, eyes serious on hers.

“Polka-dot.”

His eyes flared. “Can I rip them off?”

Buffy quivered at the thought. “Of course not!” she managed.

Spike glanced down, smiling faintly. “Of course not,” he echoed meditatively, stroking harder through the fabric. “Pity, that. They’re rather in the way.”

“You could…” Buffy swallowed. “You could _take_ them off.”

“Could I?” Spike’s voice was faint and ragged, and he made a sound between a laugh and a whimper, then shook his head. “No.”

“No?” Buffy’s stomach twisted in disappointment.

He leaned in and brushed his lips against hers, like butterfly wings. “ _You_ take them off, pet.”

If they had been anywhere but in the darkest, loneliest corner of the arcade tent, behind the oldest, most neglected game, Buffy might have balked, but Spike’s voice was like a spell, and so she smiled and twisted her wrists free, giving him a little shove back and down. He fell willingly to his knees.

Buffy looked down her nose at him regally for a moment before catching the fabric of her skirt up in her fingers, furling the skirt up all the way to her waist. Spike was still as a statue, frozen except for his eyes, which were hot and wide. “Like them?” Buffy said casually, stepping out to the side a bit.

“Bloody hell,” Spike breathed, inching closer.

Buffy lifted one booted foot and planted it firmly on his shoulder. “Stay there.”

His eyes tracked all the way up from her boot to her exposed panties. “All right then.”

Buffy was panting as she hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her panties, then slowly peeled them down her thighs until she could drop them down to her ankles, where they caught on the tops of her boots. Spike’s eyes glazed over as he watched their progress down.

Buffy solemnly tugged her left foot out of the leg hole, then held her right out to Spike, the polka-dot panties dangling from her boot. “Help a girl out?”

Spike closed his eyes as if offering up a prayer, plucked the panties off her boot, and stuffed them in his pocket. _Gonna have to remember to get those back_ , Buffy thought absently, hooking her heel over Spike’s shoulder and giving a little tug. “Now, where were we?”

Spike looked up at her darkly. “Fair sure I was being driven around the bloody bend,” he muttered.

She batted her eyes innocently. “Oh. And here I thought you had plans for this…” She released her skirt from one hand, sliding her fingers down her smooth belly and between her legs.

“I did,” he breathed. “But I think I like your plans better.”

Buffy hooked her ankle behind his neck. “Get over here, Spike.”

Spike got over there, splaying his hands out along her thighs and urging them wider. “Bloody cream puffs,” he muttered desperately, and then his tongue was on her, right beside her fingers, and they all swirled together, his tongue and her fingers and her clit, all wet and jumbled and trembling until she had no idea what was going on down there except that it was incredible.

When she jolted with her orgasm, Spike caught her hand between his, sucked each finger into his mouth in turn, swirling his tongue around lavishly, then took her damp fingers and set them back on her. “Now you,” he purred, watching as she stroked herself, and she was already so sensitized and his gaze so compelling that she came fast and sharp against her own fingers, her legs trembling from the effort of holding her up.

Spike pressed tender kisses up her thigh before hiking her leg over his shoulder, glaring hotly up her body. “And now me,” he breathed against her, cool against her wetness, and gave her one long lick, back to front, slow and measured and devastating. She wove her hands into his hair while he curled his arm securely around her thigh, tormenting her with lazy strokes of his tongue, running his teeth along the tendon of her leg, murmuring nonsense and profanities into her until she thought she would scream from the slow pace, and when she finally came it had the inevitable force of a glacier, only the game at her back keeping her from falling over.

Spike set her foot back on the ground and rose nonchalantly to his feet, eyes cast down, fussily tugging her skirt back into place. “There you go, Slayer,” he said. “I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”

Buffy narrowed her eyes, fisting her hand in his shirt. “Oh, I’ve learned my lesson, all right.” she said sweetly, then tugged and twisted so he was up against the machine. “And you know what else?” She tugged him down so they were face to face. “Turnabout is fair play.”

She popped the button on his jeans.

Spike stretched like a cat in her grip, eyes glittering. “Got me there.”

“I really, really do,” she whispered, slowly tugging down his zipper and taking him in her hand.

He was panting now, little puffs of cool air, as she stroked him slowly and thoroughly. “And just what do you plan to do with me?” he managed.

“What I always do,” Buffy grinned. “Improvise.” And she fell to her knees.

*

“Hand ‘em over.” Buffy held out her hand imperiously.

Spike looked up from his lighter. “What, you taking up smoking now?”

“Not the cigarettes,” Buffy sighed in exasperation. “My underwear.”

Spike took a drag and shrugged.

“Spike. You don’t get to mount them and hang them on your wall. Gimme.”

“Wouldn’t do that,” Spike muttered, looking offended. “Gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”

Buffy raised her eyebrows.

“Well, suit yourself,” Spike huffed, pulling the panties out of his pocket. “Don’t see why you’d want them,” he grinned as she snagged them out of his hand. “They’re all _wet_ after all.”

“They’ll dry,” Buffy sniffed as she wriggled into them.

“Will they, now?” Spike leaned in close to her ear. “Then I’ll just have to get them wet again, won’t I?”

Buffy flushed, suddenly sure her panties were never going to be dry again, not with Spike saying _things_. With his _voice._ It was totally not fair. “I am not going to wear a skirt with no underwear at the carnival. What if we went on the Tilt-a-Whirl?

“Then I, for one, would enjoy the view,” Spike said smugly.

“Aren’t we supposed to be finding a kitten?”

“What, you mean that kitten?” Spike jerked his chin towards the basket. The Siamese kitten was curled up on the lid fast asleep. “Been there a good while. While you were otherwise… occupied. With more important things.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “God, ego much?”

He grinned back, unrepentant. “I think a man’s entitled to be chuffed when he’s made his lady scream.” He lifted a cheeky eyebrow. “Three times.”

“I didn’t scream,” Buffy muttered. Though she wasn’t exactly sure how to classify the sounds she had been making. They just… hadn’t been screams.

“No?” Spike affected a worried look. “Huh. I’ll have to remedy that.” He leaned over and scooped up the sleeping kitten, tucking her neatly inside the basket with her companion. “Best be on our merry way, then,” he said breezily. “Two down, one to go.”

 

[GO TO CHAPTER 133](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982806)


	44. Chapter 44

Buffy sauntered into the arcade, giving her butt an extra twitch as she walked, because she knew Spike was following her, and she knew by now he had to have discovered the underwear in his pocket, and so thus she also knew that he knew she was currently sans panties, and all that knowledge added up to the inevitable conclusion that Spike’s eyes were almost certainly riveted on her behind, hoping for a breeze.

It was heady, the power and awareness. Buffy remembered what it had felt like to be Cave Buffy, single-minded in her pursuit of what she wanted, and she felt the same way now – except that she was whole-minded and fully cognizant of what she was doing, which was way, way better. Like, if she’d been Cave Buffy right now, she would have been just flinging him down to the floor regardless of the two or three patrons of the arcade, ripping off his clothes and screwing him right into the ground, but… Okay, actually, that sounded really good to Powerful Not-Cave-Buffy too, except for the pre-teen audience part.

She had to get Spike alone.

Fortunately, she spotted the black kitten then, its tail flicking as it ducked behind a video game. Into a very private-looking hidden corner.

She sighed in gratitude. _That’ll do, kitten. That’ll do._

She winked over her shoulder at Spike – who was indeed looking just where she wanted him to.

“This way, Spike,” she said in an inviting voice, and followed the kitten.

 

Which machine did the kitten go behind?

Pac-Man [GO TO CHAPTER 34](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20979989)

Asteroids [GO TO CHAPTER 115](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982407)


	45. Chapter 45

Buffy was shaking as she led Spike into the arcade, the surface bit of her brain scanning the tent’s interior for any sign of the kitten while the rest of her brain was reviewing the whole thing on the log ride, because _damn_ that had been erotic. She was never going to look at a Klondike Bar the same way again, that was for sure. Or Lincoln Logs. Or water, for that matter.

What was also sure was that her body was still humming and feverish, and she was pretty certain the only prescription was _more Spike_. All she needed to do was get him alone. And conveniently, the arcade was almost empty. Lots of alone-time opportunities. They just needed to find… There! She caught a flash of the Siamese kitten’s brown-tipped tail as it vanished behind one of the machines.

She was still holding Spike’s hand, and when she turned to look at him he was watching her, his eyes full of hunger and trepidation, and she stepped in and grabbed the lapels of his duster, jerking him down for a hard, swift kiss, catching his lower lip gently between her teeth as she withdrew. He glared at her like he wanted to kill her, except Buffy was starting to think that that wasn’t his wanting-to-kill face, it was his wanting-to-kiss face, and he’d just been wanting to kiss her ever since he met her.

Which she was beginning to think might be mutual.

She grabbed his hand again and walked backwards towards the machine the kitten had escaped behind, and he followed stompily, fingers nearly crushing hers, and she grinned at him, hoping the kitten had chosen its hidey-hole wisely.

Which is to say, Buffy hoped it would be private.

 

Which video game did the kitten go behind?

Ms. Pac-Man [GO TO CHAPTER 90](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981852)

Dragons Lair [GO TO CHAPTER 122](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982515)


	46. Chapter 46

Buffy darted laughing inside the arcade, sneaking the barest peek behind her to make sure Spike was still there. He stalked in after her, eyes smoldering and lips curled in a surly scowl. It took her breath away, even amid the electronic beeps and flashing lights of a few dozen video games, arranged in clusters around snaking tangles of extension cords. She had been teasing him when she licked that cream off her fingertips, but now her fingertips were tingling all on their own and she was starting to think she’d been too clever for her own good, because now she was imagining…

She almost missed the flash of the calico kitten’s tail as it ducked behind a video game, but the little flick of fur reminded her that they had a job to do here. A job that had nothing to do with the interesting licking ideas that were parading across her mind’s eye. She caught Spike’s hand in hers, dragging him along with her.

“It went this way!”

 

Which game did the kitten go behind?

Pac-Man [GO TO CHAPTER 64](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981033)

Mortal Kombat [GO TO CHAPTER 132](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982800)


	47. Chapter 47

Buffy regarded her cream puff with mingled excitement and trepidation. It was huge, puffed high with fluffy cream, and it was hard to even figure out where to start.

Spike swiped a tiny smidgen of cream on his finger, popping it in his mouth. “You gonna be able to eat all of that?” There was more dare than doubt in his voice, and he slipped an arm around her waist in a probably-intended-to-be-subtle move, guiding her away from the crowded concessions area.

“Where are we going?” Buffy laughed.

“Someplace more private,” Spike said casually. “Way you’re looking at that cream, thought the sight of you eating it might be a bit much for the kiddies.”

Buffy could feel herself turning red, but she had to admit, she was definitely in lust with the cream puff.

They found a tiny wrought-iron café table, screened by fake green foliage, and Spike took a seat opposite her, slouching down with a look of anticipation on his face.

“I dunno, Spike,” Buffy said thoughtfully. “Watching me eat this might be too much for _you_.” She took a delicate nibble of the flaky light pastry.

He lifted an eyebrow. “I can handle anything you dish out, love.”

“Oh, really?” Now that had definitely been a dare, and…. Buffy knew this was a turning point, that she was making a decision, right here and now. They were on a date now – she’d agreed – and they’d been kissing – and okay, maybe a bit more than kissing – but now she could take a step back, get their date back on a more casual, getting-to-know each other footing – or she could jump.

 _And why the hell shouldn’t I?_ she thought suddenly. She was young and free and old enough to know what she wanted. And what she wanted right now…

She wanted to eat her cream puff, that’s what she wanted. And she really, really wanted Spike to enjoy the show. So she grinned and licked her lips.

“Your funeral,” she said sweetly.

And she ate.

She knew Spike wanted her – both as a general state of being, and tonight in particular. She had kissed him and touched him and she knew his desire, and she knew that she could make him want her more, that she could drive him insane with lust. What she hadn’t realized was what turning Spike on was going to do to _her_ ; now, as she licked and nibbled at the pastry and cream as sensually as she could, she found herself caught up in her own show. She took a lick of cream, and Spike groaned faintly, as if she had licked him, and then he licked his own lips and she felt like he was licking her, and oh god, she kept nibbling and licking, sucking on the cream and thinking of Spike’s lips and his body, all his lickable parts, and from the look on his face he was thinking the same thing, him licking her and her licking him and they probably didn’t even need the cream puff, Buffy got lost in thinking how he would taste, just Spike, would he be salty or sweet or…?

The cream puff was gone, and Buffy didn’t even hesitate, standing and slipping around the table and sinking down into Spike’s lap, and oh yes, mission accomplished, he was hard as a rock, and if they hadn’t been in public she would have done more than just snuggle into him, because she had damn well jumped already and she might as well enjoy the fall, but she settled for kissing him, which wasn’t really settling at all, it was wonderful.

She promised herself that later they could have more.

_Meow!_

Her head jerked up and she looked around, thinking dizzily that finding all the kittens sooner could also make later _sooner_ , and she was completely in favor of the soonest _sooner_ possible right this moment. Spike seemed to be on board with this plan, because he was scanning their surroundings avidly.

Finally, he nodded his head off to the right. “There.”

Buffy followed his gaze and watched as the Siamese kitten cautiously ventured into a cave along the path of what looked like a long wide gutter, though she couldn’t see very clearly through the leaves. She stood and walked out of their private little alcove, peering at the attraction the cave belonged to. “Klondike Log Jam!” announced a huge sign above the line entrance, and the accompanying illustration indicated it was some sort of water ride.

Spike came up behind her, tucking his arms around her waist. “Ready to get _wet_ , Slayer?” he said in a tone of voice so filthy Buffy felt like she needed a shower. Except she needed Spike to also be in the shower, scrubbing her down.

But all she could do was nod, because… yeah. She _was_ ready to get wet.

 _God,_ was she ready.

*

Spike stepped cautiously into the floating log. The logs were apparently designed for very friendly riders, with a raised bench down the middle and no seat backs except for the rearmost passenger. Spike headed for the back seat, envisioning his cock snugly nestled against Buffy’s pert arse, but Buffy got there first, eyes challenging as she spread her legs over the bench, her skirt draped coyly over what he’d wager was the sweetest quim in this or any dimension.

Spike wondered for a brief, dizzy moment if he could get away with just getting right down to tasting it, but his keen survival instincts noted that there were an awful lot of people watching them, and in fact another couple was heading for their log, expecting to share.

Well, bugger that. Spike flashed a bit of fang up at the attendant. “This one’s full,” he said pointedly, and the attendant gulped in gratifying fear and pulled the lever to set them loose down the channel as he turned and settled in front of Buffy, setting the basket in the very front of the boat and folding his duster atop it.

Buffy poked him in the back. “Spike, did you just…?”

Spike glanced innocently over his shoulder. “Just made a suggestion, love.” She glared at him suspiciously, but didn’t argue.

The path of the ride was screened with plastic greenery and Styrofoam rocks – undoubtedly to give it a dash of real-Klondike-wilderness ambiance – and the logs were spaced so far out along the route they couldn’t see each other, so it was like being in their own little world. Spike sent a quick prayer up to whatever higher power might be on the side of a creature like himself, and slid back a bit. “Not crushing you, am I?”

Buffy was silent for a long moment before sighing. “No, not at all.” Then Spike knew there had to be a higher power up there after all – patron saint of punk, perhaps?  – because her small warm hands crept shyly around his waist and suddenly she was right up against his back, sighing.

Spike let his eyes close, covering her hands with his. “Feeling all right, pet?”

Her cheek rubbed against his shoulder blade. “This is all right, isn’t it?” she said softly. “We’re supposed to be on a date.”

“That we are,” Spike agreed, then took one of her hands in his and slid it under his shirt. “This would be all right, too.”

Buffy hummed noncommittally, but her other hand slipped under the snug cotton as well, stroking his stomach lightly – and she was breathing faster now, he noticed with interest. Perhaps her little tease with that cream-filled torture device had affected her as well.

He slid his hands back to hook behind her knees, urging her thighs up against his. “Wonder how long this ride is,” he said softly. She shrugged in response. But then he knew just how she was feeling, because she wriggled up against him, and those were very definitely her nipples, hard as rocks against his back. He’d known she wasn’t wearing a bra – he’d have needed to be dust on the wind not to notice – but they still felt like a miracle, even through the cotton of his shirt, and he cursed the seating arrangements that kept them out of reach.

Buffy was quivering now, hands fluttering like hummingbird wings over his belly, and then she slid them up until they were splayed over his chest, palms abrading his nipples. He knew he didn’t need to breathe, but he couldn’t help it, gulping in huge lungsful of air just for the friction of her hands, and – oh god, she had obviously tossed subtlety over the side of the boat, because she took his nipples between her fingers and began to roll and pinch them, just hard enough to straddle the line between pleasure and pain, and the word straddling brought to mind how her thighs had looked straddling the bench seat; he imagined them straddling his hips as she ground against his cock, or even better, straddling his face as he found out just how heavenly she tasted, sucking down her sweet cream and the point was straddling, straddling was good and it needed to happen in the near future, and in the meantime Buffy should just keep doing what she was doing.

Their log rounded a corner, bumping against the sides of the channel, and they headed into the first hill of the ride; Spike was shocked when just before they reached the bottom, Buffy jerked his shirt up to his armpits so the water soaked his bare chest. He swore, but then she laughed and squeegeed her hands all down his front, wiping the water off, and enough was enough; Spike caught her hands when they reached the waistband of his trousers and urged them lower, onto his cock.

Buffy laughed again, curving her fingers to trace his length under the denim. “Poor Spikey,” she said solicitously. “Those cold, wet jeans must be awfully uncomfortable.”

Whatever Spike might have said in response turned into a groan as Buffy tucked one warm, wet hand inside the tight fabric, snugly rubbing down his length.

They rounded another curve, and Spike could see the tunnel the kitten had gone into up ahead. Buffy gave him a little squeeze. “Want me to catch the kitten?” she teased.

“Fuck, no,” Spike muttered. “I’ll catch the bloody thing.”

“Well, if you insist,” Buffy sighed, then her other hand was undoing the fastenings of his trousers and then, oh god then his cock was free and both her hands were wrapped around it, exploring his contours. Her thighs rubbed against his as she shifted behind him, and he realized that she was rubbing against his jeans, pleasuring herself against him, and then they were in the tunnel, their mingled gasps echoing lewdly off the walls as he pumped in her hands and she rubbed her body hard against his back. The kitten was there, gazing curiously at them, and then it was gone, leaping out of the tunnel and running off, but Spike didn’t give a bloody buggering fuck where it had gone, not with Buffy all over him. She was making little moans of arousal into his spine, and he took one of her hands in his and tucked it between them, right where she’d been rubbing against his arse, guiding it roughly to her center, and from the strangled gasp that came from her lips next he could tell she’d taken his so-subtle suggestion and was frigging herself while she was pumping him, and god it was hotter than lava, knowing and feeling and hearing what she was doing but not being able to see.

They went down another hill, and when the cold water hit them – the cold chilling his cock wherever Buffy’s warm fingers weren’t – Buffy gave a deep grunt of surprised ecstasy, and Spike’s eyes rolled back in his head at the sound, the knowledge, _that’s Buffy’s voice when she comes,_ and then both her hands were on him again, and the one was wet with more than water, it was wet with _her_ , he could smell it and feel it, and that was it for him, he came so hard in her hands he saw stars, and then she tenderly tucked him away as their log cranked up to the top of what had to be the final hill, the highest one, and then he turned to her and kissed her sweetly as the last huge splash of water washed away the evidence of their sins.

He tugged at his clothing to make sure all was in place as they floated back towards the dock, offering Buffy a hand up and out when he realized her legs were shaking.

When they were on the platform again, their log being turned over to some family of four, Buffy turned to him, and… her eyes. He had never seen that look in them before, not directed at her twat ex, nor at Angel, nor even at Spike himself when she’d been magicked into loving him. He couldn’t even name what he was seeing in them now, except that they were… hers.

And maybe a little bit his.

She opened her mouth like she wanted to say something, but then her eyes flickered to the side, past his shoulder, and he turned to look. The Siamese kitten was out in the open walkway, chasing a bloody butterfly, and as they watched, it ducked into one of the tents.

Buffy caught up his hand and grinned. “I think we have a rogue kitten to catch.”

She followed the kitten and Spike followed her, because despite what had already happened on the boat, he was bloody well sure of one thing.

They weren’t done yet.

 

Which tent did the kitten go into?

Arcade: [GO TO CHAPTER 101](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982083)

Sideshows: [GO TO CHAPTER 77](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981486)


	48. Chapter 48

Buffy had just accepted the deep-fried Twinkie from the teenage cashier when Spike tugged at her arm.

“There it goes,” he said, pointing towards the carousel.

Sure enough, the calico kitten had leapt onto the slowly turning platform and was seated on one of the bench seats, placidly licking its paw. Buffy was about to vault over the fence when a familiar, grating voice froze her in place.

“There will be no line-cutting at my carousel, missy!”

Buffy turned in slow disbelief. “Principal Snyder?” And it _was_ Principal Snyder, looking just as sullen and ratlike as he had been at the Ferris Wheel, tugging officiously at his striped carny jacket. Which was pretty weird, but Buffy had to admit having multiple undead incarnations of Principal Snyder running the attractions at this very-obviously-evil carnival was no weirder than having just the one.

He glared at them, adjusting the trim of his straw boater. “You juvenile delinquents get in line and wait your turn.”

Buffy looked over at the empty line corral. “There is no line.”

“Of course there’s a line. Just because there’s no people waiting doesn’t mean you can just jump over the fence like hippies. You have to follow the proper procedures for getting on the ride…”

He looked like he was launching into a lecture, so Buffy rolled her eyes and dragged Spike to the line opening, where a creepy-looking clown on a sign declared they needed to be THIS TALL to ride the carousel, and back and forth along the path of the line, until finally they were standing in front of Principal Snyder. Up close, he was vaguely transparent.

“Tickets, please,” he said in a viciously bored voice.

Spike peeled two tickets off the roll they had acquired earlier and set them in Snyder’s outstretched hand, which seemed solid enough. He took the tickets and inspected each one suspiciously before unhooking the chain and allowing them in.

Buffy jumped onto the carousel and started winding through the horses towards the kitten’s bench as the ride started moving, calliope music blaring from the speakers. After she had taken just a few steps, though, the music cut out and was replaced by Snyder’s sneering voice.

“ _No walking on the carousel platform while the ride is in motion._ ” The aggressively-cheerful music resumed.

Spike came up beside her and shrugged. “What’s he going to do, send us to detention?”

Buffy frowned. The carousel had come back around to where she could see Snyder’s face, and something about his smug smile made her hesitate. “I don’t know,” she said reluctantly. “But I’m not sure I want to find out. There’s obviously something not right here, and until we know what it is…”

Spike rolled his eyes, but stopped walking, fixing gimlet eyes on the kitten’s bench in front of them. Buffy wrapped her free hand around one of the metal poles, regarding her deep-fried Twinkie. It looked cool enough to eat without burning her tongue now. She was about to take her first bite when the music cut out again.

“ _All riders on the carousel must be seated on an animal while the ride is in motion_.”

“Bugger that,” Spike muttered.

Buffy smirked at him sidelong. “I dunno. I kind of like the idea of you sitting on a pink pony.” She looked at Snyder’s face again as they passed by. “And I really don’t like that smile of his.”

With a long-suffering sigh, Spike set his basket on the wooden platform, glared at the bubble-gum pink unicorn beside him, then stuck his combat-booted foot in the shiny stirrup and slung his leg over like he was mounting a motorcycle. After a moment’s hesitation, he rested his hands on his thighs, fingers twitching with annoyance as the sparkly pink beast moved up and down. “Saddle up, Slayer,” he groused.

Buffy slipped onto her own horse, glittering lavender with blue roses in its carved curls of mane. It was weird riding a fake horse after getting to ride a real horse not all that long ago; she couldn’t help but compare the motion. The jerky rock of the carousel was almost harder to bear than her first foray into trotting – which thankfully had not lasted long, as Buffy’s horse hadn’t been the trotting sort. But whatever, they could deal with one round on the carousel, then snatch up the kitten and be on their way. In the meantime, she had a snack to enjoy.

She regarded the Twinkie from multiple angles before deciding to nibble delicately on one end. It was better than she’d expected, the breading crisp and the cake soft and moist, and she let out an involuntary _mmmmm_ of enjoyment.

Which was echoed from right beside her.

Startled, Buffy looked over to see Spike watching her with interest. “Shouldn’t you be keeping an eye on our fugitive?” she muttered self-consciously.

“Kitten’s not going anywhere,” he shrugged, twisting so he could rest his elbow on his pink unicorn’s head. “Rather watch you eat.”

Buffy narrowed her eyes. “And why is that?”

He lifted his eyebrows. “You really need to ask?”

She could feel her face turning red, but the deep-fried Twinkie was cooling fast, and it really was sinfully good. _Probably evil_ , she concluded, then took another nibble. _And evil sure tastes good._

Spike was still watching her, eyes amused, and she could feel her breathing accelerating, because really, it shouldn’t be possible to look like sex-on-a-stick when mounted on a pink wooden unicorn with glitter and roses, but there he was, and after all the kissing they’d done earlier, she was ready for more. And… they had decided this was a date, hadn’t they? Buffy had been single for a while, not really active on the dating scene, but she was starting to get the idea that this date wasn’t going to end with a chaste kiss at her door.

 _And why the hell should it?_ she thought suddenly. She was young and free and old enough to know what she wanted. And what she wanted right now…

She wanted to eat her Twinkie, that’s what she wanted. And she really, really wanted Spike to enjoy the show.

Watching him through her eyelashes, she took one delicate bite from the end of her Twinkie, and a second, swallowing each tidbit with an approving moan, until she could finally see the cream filling peeking out. She caught Spike’s eyes with hers as she delicately poked her tongue out for the tiniest taste of cream. It was warm and sugary, and Spike groaned in appreciation as she slowly took it into her mouth, letting it melt away.

She took another lick of cream, and another, delving her tongue in, and she felt all gooshy and warm and creamy herself, imagining Spike’s tongue against hers, because he was wicked through and through, wicked eyes and wicked hands and a wicked, wicked tongue, and now _she_ felt wicked, nibbling on the warm sponge cake and giving Spike meaningful looks like she was nibbling on him, and while at first she’d been making ecstatic sounds just to wind Spike up, she was feeling it herself now, she was gasping with the power of it rushing through her, shifting her hips minutely against the hard wooden saddle, and sucking cream and eating cake like she was starving. She caught bits of the cream on her fingertips and sucked it off, licked each fingertip, brushed her damp fingertips over her lips, scraped her teeth along her thumb, then more of the cake, right up to the last bits clinging to the stick, and then the Twinkie was gone and she was gasping desperately and looking at Spike, and he was looking at her like she was a goddess, naked and regal and glowing. Sex on a stick.

She felt suddenly lost.

As she was staring at him, the ride slowed and came to a stop.

“ _All riders must now exit the ride promptly. If you wish to ride again, you must first wait in line._ ” There was a pause, then a grudging. “ _Have a nice day._ ”

Buffy slid off her horse in Spike’s direction and he lunged in hers, and she was lifting her face up to take a taste when she caught a flicker of motion out of the corner of her eye. The kitten! It had leaped off the carousel platform and was frolicking after a butterfly. As she watched it gamboled into one of the nearby tents.

She grabbed Spike by the lapel of his duster and gave a yank. “It’s getting away!” She wended her way through the forest of wooden animals, leaving Spike behind.

He growled at her. “Bloody hell, Slayer…”

She sent him a teasing glance over her shoulder as she leaped off the platform. “You coming, Spike?” And oh, her voice sounded like a promise even to her, and his face as he stomped in her wake was like a vow, and she laughed and chased the kitten into the tent, knowing Spike would follow.

 

Which tent did the kitten go into?

Arcade: [GO TO CHAPTER 78](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981528)

Sideshows: [GO TO CHAPTER 19](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20979479)


	49. Chapter 49

Buffy waited until everyone was assembled before starting the sort-of-meeting, but she couldn’t help but notice a distinct lack of kittens in the other Scoobies’ possession. When Giles finally stumbled over from wherever he’d been hiding – some home base he was! – Buffy clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention.

“So, how’d it go?”

“Oooh!” Willow said happily. “We went on the Ferris Wheel…”

“It was… really nice,” Tara smiled.

Anya chimed in, “And we visited the Cliffhanger…”

Xander belched unhappily.

Buffy interrupted their gushing (and belching). “And the kittens?”

“What kittens?” Anya asked, looking genuinely perplexed.

“We followed ours!” Willow volunteered, giving Anya a smug narrow glare. “It was so cute, all black and shiny, but… it got away.”

“Ours got away too,” Anya hurried to add. “But we totally followed it, just like we were supposed to do, until Xander got queasy and I had to put some wet napkins on his forehead.” She shrugged, not looking especially disappointed.

Giles looked vaguely in Buffy’s direction. “I have determined that this circus is indeed quite evil. On a completely unrelated note, does any of you have a napkin or handkerchief?”

Buffy opened her mouth to complain about how nobody was helping, but she quickly shut it again. They all looked so happy – well, maybe not Xander, and Giles was some weird British mix of satisfied and frustrated, but that was still, like sixty percent happy, which she well knew was a passing grade – and it’s not like she and Spike had been especially focused on-task themselves.

She snuck a quick glance at Spike, who was checking the lid of his basket to make sure it was secure. No, she was not a focused Buffy at all.

Anyhow, summer was drawing to a close, and pretty soon school was going to start up again. Didn’t they all deserve a little bit of fun?

Didn’t _Buffy_ deserve a little bit of fun?

She sighed. “All right then. See what you can find guys. We’ll meet back here in another half hour, okay? In the meantime… enjoy.”

As the Scoobies scattered and Giles settled back on his bench, pulling out his little book, she grabbed Spike by the arm and dragged him off around the corner, so she could talk to him privately.

The second they got around the corner, to a little alcove behind the ticket booth, she looked up at him and he looked down at her, eyes flaring, and they were kissing again. God, he was a good kisser. She could just stay back here and kiss him for hours and hours…

But no, that wasn’t what she’d wanted to do. She’d wanted to talk to him about something, something that had seemed really important.

Oh! That was it. Her heart sank, because she really didn’t want to say it, but, she felt she really had to.

“We have to stop kissing,” she said firmly, holding Spike away.

“All right, then,” he said affably. “Just let me know when you’ve caught your breath, and…”

“No, not just for a few seconds. For good.” She quickly amended that. “Well, for tonight.”

He looked at her for a long moment, a series of expressions crossing his face. He finally settled on sardonic, which was a bad choice as far as Buffy was concerned, because Spike was somehow sexier when he was snarking.

“Finding it hard to follow your logic here. Quite possibly because you haven’t presented any.”

She flushed. “It’s not fair to you.”

There, he was on befuddlement now, which was… still sexy. Dammit. He made an impatient keep-talking gesture.

“I told you, I… I don’t know what any of this means,” Buffy said hesitantly. “I don’t want to use you, or…”

Spike interrupted, laughing. “God, just use me already.” He leaned in for another kiss.

Buffy placed her hand over his mouth, gently but firmly. “I’m sorry, Spike.”

Spike took a step back, tilting his head so he could look down his nose in challenge. Finally, he shook his head. “Well, I’ve heard what you have to say. Think it’s a load o’ rot, but I heard it.” He stepped close again, face determined. “Like to make a counter-proposition.”

“I didn’t make a proposition!” Buffy protested. “It was the exact opposite of a proposition, in fact.”

He rolled his eyes, clearly frustrated.  “Right. I’ll just be going, then.” He turned to walk away.

“Wait!” He froze in his tracks at her voice. “What… what was your idea?”

He turned and stomped back to her, jaw twitching. “You don’t know what it means, yeah? What say we find out?”

Buffy wrapped her arms around herself. “How?”

He grinned. “Take you around the carnival, show you a good time…”

She flushed. “A good time?”

Spike smiled slyly, shaking his head. “My, my, Slayer, what must you be thinking? Not proposing anything indecent here. I’m asking you out on a date.” He shrugged easily. “Though if you’re _interested_ in something indecent, I’m more than willing…”

Buffy interrupted him before he dug that particular hole any deeper. “You want to go on a date? Here?”

“Why not?”

“Well, let’s see. Maybe because this carnival is, oh, I don’t know, _evil_?”

Spike grinned unrepentantly. “I’m a vampire. You’re a vampire slayer. This circus has tasty treats, fun and games, and potentially evil things to kill. A bit of the rough and tumble, a bit of the _rough and tumble_ …”

Buffy flushed at the downright dirty insinuation in his voice. “And kittens.”

“And kittens,” Spike agreed. “A little quest to keep things interesting. Sounds bloody perfect to me.” His eyes dropped at the end, his jaw twitching.

He expected her to say no, Buffy realized, and it was that bit of vulnerability that made up her mind. “All right, then,” she said casually. “I guess we could go on _one_ date. Since we’re here already.”

Spike’s head jerked up in surprise, eyes wide for just a moment before they narrowed. “One?”

She lifted her chin. “A second date might be negotiable. Maybe. If you make a good impression.”

“A challenge, is it?” Spike cracked his knuckles before holding out his hand. “Deal.” Buffy reached out to shake, but was caught off balance when Spike yanked on her fingers, pulling her up against him. “Think this one might be best sealed with a kiss,” he drawled.

That sounded like an excellent idea. A whole lot better than her no-kissing plan. Buffy tilted her chin up in anticipation, lips parting.

Spike’s eyes lingered on her mouth for a moment before he grinned wickedly and tugged her hand up instead, pressing a lingering kiss to her knuckles. “Let the games begin,” he whispered, lips bare inches from hers, before stepping back. “Well then,” he said conversationally. “Dunno ‘bout you, but I like to begin my dates with a bit of kibble.”

Buffy looked at him askance. “You’re going to impress me with dog food? What, are the _bits_ second base?”

“Nosh.” When Buffy rolled her eyes, Spike rolled his right back. “Food, Slayer. ‘M offering to buy you a treat.”

“You already bought me a treat.”

“Weren’t on a proper date then, were we? That was just between friends.” Spike looked at her again, and this time his face was dead serious. “Different thing, buying a treat for my lady.”

Something in his voice sent a shiver down into the pit of her stomach, and she took a deep breath before favoring him with a slow smile. “All right. I could go for another snack.” She frowned then, looking around. “But we should really look for the kittens, too. Which way should we go?”

Spike frowned thoughtfully. “Wiccas saw the black kitten by the Ferris wheel, yeah? So the Calico was around the Cliffhanger…”

 

Which kitten do they search for?

Calico: [GO TO CHAPTER 81](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981579)

Black: [GO TO CHAPTER 5](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20978753)


	50. Chapter 50

Spike glowered at the sign in front of the animal enclosure the kitten had chosen as its hidey-hole _. Of course_ the kitten had chosen this, out of all the bloody places it could have hidden in.

Buffy stared at the sign for a moment as well, then shrugged. “We can take it.”

Spike stared at her in disbelief. “Really,” he said drily. “Your professional opinion is that we, you and I, can take on a bloody _tiger_.”

“It’s probably asleep,” Buffy said bracingly. “If it were awake, it would be out here looking all stripey and _rarr!_ instead of hiding out in that teensy little tent, right?”

“Probably.” Spike sighed. “I am beginning to think it might be easier to just go back to town and nick another bloody litter from the bloody animal shelter.”

“Nick?” Buffy frowned at him suddenly. “Spike, are these kittens stolen?”

“Not this lot,” Spike answered truthfully, grateful Buffy hadn’t been around for his last payment to questions the provenance of that batch. “Got ‘em from a mate in exchange for some videotapes. Not _those_ kind of videotapes,” he hastened to add, when she made a face. “They were, um…” Bloody hell, he was going to have to say it. “Doogie Howser. So, about the tiger…”

With a wry look that said she hadn’t missed his confession – though Spike refused to be humiliated, he watched what he bloody well pleased – Buffy leaped over the high fence, motioning for Spike to follow. They approached the tent cautiously.

When they were finally right outside the tent flap, Buffy set her pretty jaw and gave him that look of hers, the one that said she meant business. “All right. You open the flap, and I’ll grab the kitten.”

“Got a better idea,” Spike shot back. “ _You_ open the flap, and _I’ll_ grab the kitten.”

She glared at him. “I thought we’d been through this. I’m the Slayer. I get first dibs on the action.”

“Bugger that, Slayer. Way I see it, the tiger’s either asleep or awake. If it’s asleep, the only action consists of capturing a bloody kitten. If it’s _awake_ – which is more and more likely the longer we natter on about it – the action is like to involve huge claws ripping through flesh. Now, which of us is more likely to survive that _action_?”

She stuck out her lower lip mutinously. “Unless it bites off your head.”

“Unless it bites off my head. And really, what are the chances…”

Buffy clapped her hand over his mouth. “Don’t say it!”

He tilted his head to a challenging angle, taking her hand in both of his. “I’m the obvious choice of target. Right?”

She nodded grouchily.

“So. On three. One… Two…”

Before Spike could count _three_ , there was a frantic yowl, and the calico kitten shot out of the tent like a bullet, dashing out through the bars of the high fence. Spike’s eyes met Buffy’s for the barest moment of comprehension before they each leapt back from the tent, her running left and him running right as the tiger barreled out into the enclosure, snarling viciously.

Thankfully, it was intent on following the kitten, which gave them just enough time to get over their respective ends of the fence, running around to meet at the middle.

“Well, that went well,” Spike quipped.

“Well enough,” Buffy laughed, eyes sparkling with adrenaline. “Did you see where the kitten went?”

Spike hadn’t, but a quick scan of the area netted him a glimpse of the kitten’s tail as it disappeared into… another animal tent.

“You’d think a creature would learn,” he muttered, pointing it out to Buffy.

She grinned. “Not like we ever do.”

 

Which tent did the kitten go into?

Elephant: [GO TO CHAPTER 4](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20978729)

Zebra: [GO TO CHAPTER 23](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20979608)


	51. Chapter 51

Ben hurried through the party, intent on his destination. Buffy Summers. She was cute, and she was apparently interested in him, which was nice, but best of all, she was the Slayer.

Glory was going to go ballistic when she found out they had gone on a date. Especially when she then found out – because he would make sure she found out – that he had no intention of using the date to her advantage.

Ben was going to have a nice cup of coffee with a nice girl, and Glory could kiss his ass.

Which actually was kind of also her own ass, and he would also be doing the kissing in a sense, but…

Lost in semantics, he tripped, his hands going out automatically to break his fall. They landed on something soft and… flowery?

He was about to apologize to the poor girl he had accidentally groped, when she turned and fisted her hand in the front of his shirt, lifting him high into the air so his toes were dangling inches above the ground.

“You are not my boyfriend!” she said in a furious – yet still sweet and melodious – voice. “Nobody can touch me but Warren!”

And then she threw him into a wall.

*

Buffy looked over Spike’s shoulder at the commotion. “Well, there goes the party,” she griped. “Really, why do I even bother?”

Spike shrugged, which pissed her off, because everything he had done tonight had pissed her off, from insisting on talking to her even after the creepy chaining-her-up thing – which Willow had pointed out probably made perfect logical sense to a vampire, but _hello!_ she was human and preferred human logic! – to just existing in the same place as her, breathing the same air. Not that he was breathing the air _per se_ , but it was the principle of the thing.

She approached the pretty girl who was the center of the hubbub. “Hey there! Anything I can help you with, or did you want to throw some more guys around? Because if you take requests…”

The girl turned to her with a cheerful, blank smile. “Have you seen Warren?”

Buffy blinked. “Who’s Warren?”

“Sorry, I have to go find Warren.” With a brilliant smile the girl turned and left.

Buffy was about to follow, but Spike’s annoying stupid voice broke in. “Slayer, this fellow’s dead.”

Buffy stomped over, and then wilted. “Wow, would you look at that? A new Buffy Summers record. Ask a guy to dance, and he’s dead five minutes later.”

Spike stood, looking like he was going to try and comfort her, and that was just… “Don’t touch me!” she bit out, slapping his extended hand away. “I don’t need your help.”

Spike drew himself up proudly and departed.

Buffy knelt beside Ben’s broken body, stroking the hair back from his face. “This is why I never go out for coffee.”

*

Buffy sneaked another glance out at the armed fighters surrounding their rickety gas station haven. God, these guys just never gave up, did they? She cast her weary glance around the room. Willow and Tara were chanting together, keeping the barrier up. Xander, Anya, and Dawn were conversing in hushed whispers against one of the interior walls. And Spike…. She frowned. Spike was standing next to the counter where they’d lain Giles, blocking her view.

She stalked over. “What are you doing?”

“Just putting a little more pressure on.” He glanced up at her, eyes hooded. “Not exactly used to trying to keep it in a person, but at least I know how the bloody stuff works. Blood, that is.”

Buffy slipped her hand into Giles’s, nudging Spike aside. “Any change?”

Spike grimaced down at the wadded-up curtain he was pressing into Giles’s stomach. “None, and you should be bloody grateful for that fact, Slayer. You and I both know that what the watcher needs is a hospital. Longer we’re trapped in here, thinner his chances get.”

“Yeah, well, the guys with the pointy swords have other ideas. They only agreed to allow medical help in, not to let us out.” She squeezed Giles’s hand, wishing he would at least squeeze back instead of just… lying there trembling.

Spike snorted in exasperation. “Could make a break for —”

Buffy interrupted, anxiety making her voice sharp. “And what, tuck Giles into a backpack until we can put him back together? We can’t run with him like this.” She gulped back a sob. There wasn’t time for tears now.

Spike looked at her silently for a long moment, long enough that it made her uncomfortable, and she focused on his bandaged hands. “I can… I can do that,” she said eventually. “You go… I dunno. Glower intimidatingly at our hostage or something.”

“All right,” he muttered, shrugging. “I’ll just bugger off then.”

“It’s not…” Buffy began, then sighed. “I just want some… some time alone with him.” She tucked her hands in under Spike’s, taking over the pressure. His fingers brushed the backs of her hands as he withdrew, hands going in his duster pockets. “…Spike?”

“Yeah?” He had fumbled a pack of cigarettes out and was glaring at it.

“Thanks,” she whispered.

He acknowledged it with a nod and a flare of his eyelids before striding off into the back.

Buffy sighed, watching him go. She still wasn’t sure she’d done the right thing, letting Spike into her circle, but so far it hadn’t led to terrible disaster, which was something. She just… didn’t know what to do. One minute he’d be fighting by her side, totally useful and dependable, and the next he’d be… well, ordering the creeptastic robot was the only thing she could really think of, but it was really, really creepy. Then again, he’d also stood up to the torture the Knights of Byzantium had inflicted on him without revealing Dawn’s identity, and then he’d come through for their strategic retreat, and…. Well. She didn’t know what to do.

And she didn’t have time for it now.

*

Spike nipped a Marlboro out of the pack and let it dangle from his lips while he fumbled his Zippo out. Grabbing that bloody sword had seemed like a brilliant idea at the time, when it had been heading straight for Buffy’s head, and then he sure as bloody hell hadn’t been about to let go once he’d already dived off that cliff of clever decisions, but that final slash had ripped through tendons, and now his (figuratively _and_ literally) bloody fingers weren’t working properly.

And, well, he hadn’t done it for the praise – hadn’t had time to think about it at all – but it would’ve been nice to get a bit more than the terse _they’ll heal_ Buffy had tossed out before getting back to business. Though he had to admire her focus. Whatever her faults, Buffy bloody well knew how to win.

He was struggling to operate the lighter when Xander came up and took it right out of his hand.

Spike half expected the boy to set him on fire then and there, but instead he held it out expectantly, so with a muttered “Thanks,” Spike let Xander light him up, taking a deep breath of nicotine. Didn’t help the pain, of course, but it did make him feel a bit more himself.

“You know, those things’ll kill you,” Xander said, tucking the lighter in his own pocket. Spike glared at him, and he had either the grace or the self-preservation instinct to smile wryly. “Oh. Right.”

They stood side by side for a while, leaning up against the wall.

Finally, Xander looked over again. “I mention today how much I don’t like you?” His voice was oddly companionable – not friendly, but not antagonistic either.

“You mighta let it slip in… once or twice.”

Xander smiled faintly, then nodded towards Spike’s bandaged hands.

“How’re your feelers?”

Spike could feel a rant bubbling up inside him – _god_ , he hated being boxed in! – but he made himself shrug. “Nothing compared to what the watcher’s going through.”

Xander was silent for a long moment, then held out his hand. “Gimme.”

Spike stared at it. “And just what am I giving you? Already snaffled my lighter – don’t think I didn’t notice.”

“The cigarette. I’m over eighteen, I’m legal to smoke.” Eyebrows raised, Spike held out the half-smoked Marlboro; Xander took it between two fingers and regarded it for a moment before taking a deep drag.

Spike snagged the cigarette back before Xander could drop it in the ensuing coughing fit. “You know, those things’ll kill you,” he grinned nastily before inhaling. Xander nodded between coughs, eyes streaming and face red.

“All you need do is give up the Key, you know,” the bloke chained to the post said.

“Not gonna happen, mate,” Spike replied firmly. “’Sides, what do you lot want with the Key? What with Glory being dead and all.”

The knight stared at them for a long moment. “The Beast is not dead,” he said at last. “Our seers would have—“

“Slayer’s been telling you for weeks,” Spike interrupted. “Did your bloody seers bother to follow up on that?”

Buffy’s voice came from the doorway. “Seriously, don’t you guys talk to each other? I told Domingo, and I told… what’s-his-face? Mario? The one who kidnapped Tara.”

“Marisco.”

“And I told _you_ at least three times. It took Giles, like, five minutes to cast a spell that confirmed she was dead. Are your so-called seers actually doing _anything_?”

The hostage, bowed his head. “Release me, and I shall… consult with them.”

Spike lifted an eyebrow at Buffy, and she gave a sharp nod; he pushed off the wall and went to untie the knight, prepared in case he chose to attack. He couldn’t bloody well fight the bloke, but he could at least get in the way, take on a bit of a migraine for the team.

But the knight walked peaceably to the door – Willow and Tara managed to open a doorway in their magickal shield for him to depart – and shortly thereafter, Buffy heard a loud call of horns outside, followed by a bellowed message.

Buffy frowned. “They want to party? That’s a really weird thing to do in the middle of a siege.”

“Parley,” Spike sighed. “They want to talk.”

With a roll of her eyes, Buffy took hold of his sleeve. “Ugh. If they want to talk so much, why use French? I couldn’t even speak French when I was studying it, much less now.” She tugged him towards the door. “Let’s get this over with.”

*

Buffy glared at Gregor, who was flanked by the two bearded weirdos in robes – why did people getting their ritual on wear robes all the time, anyhow? Was it just for the ambiance, or did they actually need the airflow for good spell conduction? She would have to ask Willow later.

One of the Gandalf-wannabes bowed his head, expression faintly embarrassed. “We have had a vision. The Beast is dead.”

Buffy raised her eyebrows. “Oh, you had a _vision_ , did you? Tell me, did that vision come before or after the fifty times I told you that very thing?”

Gregor managed a grudging nod. “The Knights of Byzantium apologize for the inconvenience.” With another bow, they turned and walked away.

Buffy stared after them. “That was anticlimactic.” She looked at Spike doubtfully. “You think I could hit them up for a ride back to town?”

But then there was a commotion on the outskirts of the camp, and Buffy looked over to see… a parade? No, a procession of those little scabby guys of Glory’s, dozens of them, bearing black and red banners embroidered with images of Glory in a variety of poses – Buffy had to admit, the bubble bath one was lovely – and that was all she had time to notice before the Knights of Byzantium were rushing into battle.

“We joining in?” Spike asked eagerly.

Buffy folded her arms and regarded the melee. “No, I don’t think we’ve got a stake in this one.” She nudged him. “See what I did there?”

He rolled his eyes. “Bloody hilarious, you are.”

“However,” Buffy continued, “I do see a whole bunch of horses, just hanging out over there. And I think the Knights of Byzantium owe us a little… restitution, don’t you?”

Spike grinned back. “Seems only fair.”

*

It took a while to get everyone mounted – Willow, despite her insistence earlier that the horsies not be hurt, was terrified and needed some convincing just to approach them, and Buffy herself was a bit at sea, having not been in a saddle since that birthday party with the pony rides when she was eight. But Anya and Spike both copped to having experience, and after the obligatory amount of fuss and fear and falling off, eventually they all managed to get astride and headed in the direction of town. Buffy had wanted to carry Giles herself, but she didn’t think it was a good idea when she was having so much trouble just convincing her horse to go straight, and so she had carefully lifted Giles up to Spike; they were riding now at the front of their little herd. Buffy watched them constantly, worried at every twitch Giles made, and wondering.

When they were about halfway back to Sunnydale, Buffy managed to convince her horse to speed up a little, to catch up to Spike. “How do you know how to ride a horse?”

Spike glared at Buffy, shifting Giles cautiously in his arms. “I’ll have you know I have an excellent seat.”

Buffy glanced at Spike’s butt, resting in the weird medieval-y saddle, and even annoyed as she was that he hadn’t actually answered her question, she couldn’t help but think that he was _so_ right.

[GO TO CHAPTER 108](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982200)


	52. Chapter 52

A little hot funnel-cake with extra powdered sugar seemed like absolute heaven, and Buffy felt like a kid again as she watched the concession worker drizzling the batter into the hot oil, where it fused and puffed and crisped up into one of her favorite treats ever.

“I used to get these when I was little,” she told Spike as she accepted the hot pastry. “Not at the fair, but in Los Angeles you can get stuff like this down at the pier.”

He smiled, eyes soft. “Well, happy to be of service.” He peered closely at it. “Never had one, myself.”

“Really?” Buffy shrugged. “Well, I _might_ be willing to share. Now, do you see our fugitive?”

Spike scanned the area, then shrugged. “Not a hair. Little bugger’s gone to ground.”

“Okay,” Buffy sighed. “Tell you what, let me just eat this real quick, then we can start looking under tent flaps or whatever.”

They found a bench off the beaten path, screened by a little grove of potted bushes and trees; Buffy sat primly on one side while Spike slouched on the other, draping an arm over the back and hiking one leg up.

“Go on,” he said genially. “Eat.”

She could feel his eyes on her, warm and indulgent, and it was like she was on stage, despite the quiet privacy of their sheltered corner, which oddly didn’t feel _bad_. It actually felt… really, really good, as if she were a movie starlet, ready for her close-up. Sexy and alluring and definitely, one-hundred-percent, not a kid anymore.

She took a deep, trembling breath, choosing a piece that was dripping with powdered sugar, and brought it to her mouth, taking a delicate bite.

Powdered sugar spilled onto her hand, and she looked at Spike sidelong as she licked it off.

He shifted in his seat. “Could get you a napkin,” he offered, sighing as if he were disgusted at his own politeness.

“Nope,” Buffy said firmly. “I’ve got this taken care of.” She took another delicate lick.

Spike shifted into a more comfortable position and gestured affably for her to continue.

She took another bite of funnel cake, then another, showily licking off the spattered sugar each time. On her fourth piece, Spike made a little growl in his throat.

“Missed a spot, Slayer.”

“Really?” Buffy looked at him through her eyelashes. “Where?”

“Could show you…” he said suggestively, reaching out for her wrist, but she pulled her hand out of reach, looking him right in the eye, feeling dizzy with power.

“Where do you want me to lick?” she said, clearly and precisely.

Spike settled back, gulping, eyes hot. “There, on… index finger,” he said, voice trembling.

Buffy methodically licked off her index finger, then went for another piece of funnel cake. This time, she looked at her sugar-spotted hand, then inquisitively looked at Spike.

“The thumb,” he said harshly. She complied, scraping her teeth along the skin slowly. “And… and the back of your hand. God. Now the fingers…” She delicately cleaned off her hand along with his words, feeling naughty and tingly and oh-so-wicked.

The next piece of funnel cake, she deliberately fumbled on the way to her mouth, spraying a constellation of powdered sugar across her chest, just above the neckline of her shirt.

“Oh, no,” she said sweetly. “Whatever am I to do about this?” She looked at Spike darkly. “Shall I have you fetch a napkin?”

He laughed brokenly. “Yeah, could do that. Or…”

“Or?”

“Or I could offer some… assistance.”

Buffy slowly let her head fall back, a silent invitation, and a second later his lips were on her chest, little butterfly brushes, delicate laps of his tongue that turned into long lascivious strokes, dipping under the edge of her shirt and gliding up the column of her throat, and then his lips were on hers, and oh god yes, this was what she’d wanted, this very thing.

He withdrew then, taking up the carton of funnel cake, feeding her bit after bit between sweet tiny kisses until it was all gone – he took a nibble for himself here and there, both of the funnel cake and of her – and when it was all gone she caught at his hand and sucked every bit of powdered sugar off, and then he took _her_ hand, dredging it in the remnants of powdered sugar in the carton, running his tongue around her fingers, sucking them into his mouth as if he were starving, and then he ran his own fingers through the mounds of powdered sugar, tracing stripes of white along her throat and licking them off until her head had fallen back again, and she was about to suggest some other places he could lick some powdered sugar off of when she heard a startled _meow!_ from above her and her eyes blinked open to meet the curious gaze of the calico kitten, perched just overhead on the branch of an ornamental citrus.

“Kitten!” she gasped, and Spike’s head jerked up from where he was nuzzling the neckline of her shirt downwards, and he lunged. The carton of powdered sugar tumbled onto the ground, spilling its contents across the dirt.

The kitten scampered out of reach, Spike’s fingers closing on air, and he swore.

“Which way did it go?” Buffy brushed away a few bits of powdered sugar that had hit shirt instead of skin.

Spike glared at her, eyes blazing. “Bugger the kitten. Rather…”

Buffy caught his cheeks between her hands. “Do I look like I’m done?”

A little sulky growl came from the back of his throat. “No…” he admitted testily. “In fact, you look like you need a right good…”

Buffy interrupted him before he could say what she needed, because she already knew. “Let’s get the kitten, ‘kay? Keep your head on your shoulders.” She kissed him, hard and fast. “I kinda like it there.”

Spike’s forehead scrunched up like an algebra student trying to figure out differential equations. (Buffy knew that look, because she wore it whenever she took a math class.) Finally, he sighed.

“We’re not bloody well done,” he said darkly.

“No,” Buffy agreed. “We’re not.”

Spike held out his hand then, and she clasped it in hers firmly, letting him haul her to her feet, laughing a little when their sticky skin stuck a little.

They emerged from their sheltered hideaway just in time to see the calico kitten’s patchy tail disappearing inside the door to the Cliffhanger. Buffy wound her fingers in Spike’s – might as well accept the stuckness before it destroyed her – and dashed after it, only to be brought up short at the door when a cane whipped out to block her path.

“Nobody gets on my ride without a ticket, missy!”

The familiar voice sent shivers up Buffy’s spine, and she slowly turned to face its owner, a short, balding man in a red-and-white striped jacket and a flat straw boater hat.

“Principal Snyder?” Buffy could feel her mouth falling open, but, really, what the hell?

Snyder gave her a dismissive once-over, resting his hands before him on the knob of his cane. “Miss Summers. Should have known a delinquent like you would end up here on a school night.”

“But you’re… didn’t the Mayor eat you?” She glanced at Spike, who was watching them like they were an episode of _Passions_. “I _knew_ this carnival was evil!”

Snyder gave her a poisonous glare, then held out his hand. “Tickets, please.”

Buffy blinked. “We don’t have any tickets.”

With a malicious grin, Snyder stepped between her and the open door. “I’m afraid you can’t get on the ride without tickets. There’s a booth over there. Go purchase some, and then once you’ve done that, go stand in line and wait your turn.” He swept her with a scornful glance. “Not that I’m surprised to add line-jumping to your incredibly long list of crimes and infractions.”

Buffy considered pointing out that there wasn’t any line to jump – the ride seemed to be deserted – but she was pretty sure arguing with Snyder was a waste of time that could be better spent on… the kitten! Buffy looked over Snyder’s shoulder at the kitten, sitting smugly in the very center of the round room. Maybe she could…

Snyder’s hand fell on her arm, and it felt… not right. “I wouldn’t if I were you, Summers,” he said in a quiet, satisfied voice. The kind of voice that was a dare. And looking at his faintly glowing eyes, feeling the unnatural strength of his hand…. Well, ghost or zombie or whatever, Buffy was sure she could still kick his ass, but she was the one who’d insisted on not raising a fuss.

And what the hell, it was Spike’s supposedly-legitimately-earned money.

She grabbed Spike’s sleeve. “Come on. You’re buying.”

*

Willow knew this was a serious mission – head-chomping on the line and all – but it was hard to stay serious when you were chasing a black kitten through a happy fun (maybe evil) carnival, holding hands with the woman you loved. She couldn’t keep from laughing, and when she looked over at Tara and saw her eyes shining… well, it wasn’t so long ago that she’d feared she’d lost her sweet lover for good, and every so often she’d think what a miracle it was, that they’d all come through all right after all.

Tara’s laughing face was always a miracle.

They’d had some serious heart-to-hearts after Glory and the Knights of Byzantium had been taken care of, and Willow felt like they’d come out the other side stronger, both in magic and in love. She’d gone to a dark place when she’d lost Tara, dark enough that the memory made her feel kinda sick, but Tara had helped her shine a little light in the corners of her magic, sweep out some of the cobwebs in her soul, and while she could still feel the darkness creeping around in her shadows, she felt… more secure somehow. Like the lightbulb that was Tara wouldn’t ever quite go out again, leaving her alone in the dark.

They stumbled to a gasping halt after a few minutes, giggling.

“Did you see where it went?” Tara gasped, breathless.

“There!” Willow pointed to the Ferris wheel, where the kitten had leapt onto a seat, smugly grooming itself.

Tara squeezed her hand, giving her that sidelong look Willow loved so much, the one full of promise, seductive and shy at the same time. “I think it may be our civic duty to go after it.”

Willow grinned back. “I think you’re right.”

They bought a roll of tickets from a nearby booth and went through the mostly-empty line; by the time they got to the boarding platform, the kitten’s carriage was halfway around.

“We’ll just catch it when we get off,” Willow said to Tara’s questioning shrug. “In the meantime, we can keep an eye on it from here.” She slid onto the seat and patted the space beside her. Tara smiled back, shy and wicked and beautiful, and snuggled in beside her.

The ride attendant settled the safety bar into place, and they were off, the air whooshing in their hair. They went around and around and around, and on the third circuit, the kitten leaped off the ride and took off for parts unknown.

“Well, that went well,” Willow laughed.

Tara shrugged. “Can’t get off now. We’ll just have to endure the torment of riding on the Ferris wheel a little longer.” She nudged Willow with her hip. “And I believe tradition requires that we kiss at the top.”

“Oh, no!” Willow gasped in horror. “Not… not kissing!”

Tara nodded solemnly. “It’s tradition.”

And then neither of them could keep a straight face anymore; they dissolved into giggles, which melted into hugs. Tara burst into a quick chorus of that song from Fiddler on the Roof, singing in a fakey bass voice that set Willow off into more giggles, and then, oh then they _were_ stopped at the top of the Ferris wheel, and then Tara was laughing into Willow’s lips, and then neither of them was laughing anymore, but they were still filled with joy as they kissed and kissed, even after the wheel started moving again.

It felt like flying.

*

Andrew walked up and down the service walkway inside the Tunnel of Love, eyes glued to the Pokémon on his screen. It looked like a flopping goldfish, pretty unimpressive in itself, but Andrew hadn’t read every Pokémon manga and strategy guide and supplemental resource to tatters for nothing. That little floppy fishy was a Magikarp, the Little Pokémon that Could, and once caught, it would be but a trifle to evolve it into a Gyarados, the mightiest of all water Pokémon, and then, ah then… the world would be his.

It took him a little while to catch the wee beastie – long enough that the smacking sounds coming from the various passing lovebirds were starting to annoy him.

“Get a room, guys,” he muttered as he finally managed to pitch his Poké Ball at just the right angle, eagerly watching as the Magikarp was added to his Pokémon Index.

“And how many Magikarp Candy does it take to evolve _you_?” he crooned, checking the stats.

_Holy crap! Four HUNDRED?_

He did some quick math in his head. Three candy for each capture, plus one for each that he sent to the Professor, plus he had to keep at least one _to_ evolve, that meant… One hundred and one. One hundred and one Magikarp. (Which, now that he said it out in his head like that, sounded like a really awesome title for an epic Disney/Pokémon crossover fanfiction, but he kicked his muse in the head and got back to business.)

He had the one.

One hundred to go.

He resumed the hunt.

*

Anya lost track of the Siamese kitten almost immediately, but she really didn’t care. Over a thousand years of existence, she had seen carnivals evolve from spare gatherings of wandering merchants with maybe a lame puppet show, to the glitzy laser-light-show extravaganza that was modern Barnum and Bailey’s, and in all that time, there was one thing she’d never done.

She’d never been to a carnival with a _date_.

“We have to do it all,” she told Xander excitedly. “We have to go on the rides, and you have to hold my hand, and we’ll scream and put our hands in the air, and I’ll pretend to be scared even though I’m really not, just so I can hug you, and we can kiss at the top of the Ferris wheel and sing “You’re the One That I Want” in the Funhouse and you can win me a big stuffed animal and…”

She kept on, listing all the things she wanted to do – over a thousand years she’d built up a good list, though she supposed she would have to go without the bear-baiting at this point – as Xander resignedly paid for a roll of ride tickets, shaking his head.

Then she saw it. The ride she’d been dreaming of.

The Tunnel of Love.

“Oooh!” she squealed, wrapping her arms around her honey. “This one first! This one!” She didn’t give him a chance to protest, dragging him over to where a man was taking tickets.

“No food on the ride,” the attendant said in a bored tone of voice, indicating the last cupcake, still clutched in Xander’s hand. Anya rolled her eyes, unwrapped it, and stuffed it in Xander’s mouth before he could argue.

“ _Now_ can we get on the…” Something about the man’s French accent tickled her memory, and she squinted up at his face. “Pierre?”

He started, looking at her more closely. “Anyanka?”

Xander’s eyes bugged out, muffled noises coming from around the cupcake.

Anya smiled at him reassuringly, being quite fluent by now in Xander-Talking-With-His-Mouth-Full. “Don’t worry, sweetie, he’s not an ex-boyfriend of mine. We just danced a few times, back in Paris. No, wait, Brussels.”

Pierre laughed, giving Anya that intimate look that had always made her shiver. “Dancing? Is that what they call it now, _mon amour_?”

Anya blushed. “Well, a girl can hardly be held responsible for going a little wild after _that_. Such good times.” She gave Pierre a reproving look. “But what happened at Waterloo stays at Waterloo.”

Xander whimpered through the crumbs.

Anya looked Pierre up and down. “You’re looking good.” Up close, you could see the adorable spines that ridged his elbows and shoulders, and he still had the lean hips and powerful thighs that had looked so good in the skintight unmentionables of the Napoleonic era. Xander’s hips weren’t so lean, but it occurred to her that early-nineteenth-century menswear might suit him quite well. Certainly better than it had Prinny. And she had done her part, with the maid outfit and the nurse outfit and the geisha outfit and the mascot suit. (She refused to dress as a cheerleader, because she had Standards, but sometimes Xander needed a private pep squad.)

She wondered if she could convince him to grow sideburns.

Pierre gave Anya a once-over of his own and sniffed a few times, nostrils flaring. “You’re looking… human.”

Anya waved her hand in dismissal. “Long story.”

Pierre’s eyes flicked to Xander. “And who is this?”

Anya clutched Xander’s arm happily. “This is my boyfriend, Xander! Xander, meet Pierre.”

Xander mumbled something through the cupcake. He was slacking; usually he could get through a box of cupcakes much faster. Ah well. He was still her snuggly eating champion.

Pierre looked at them for a long moment, then took the tickets Anya was eagerly holding out, unclipping the chain to let them in.

“Enjoy the ride,” he said, bowing just as he had after their very last dance. So very courtly. She wouldn’t trade her clumsy cuddly Xander for anything, but Pierre had always had lovely manners.

Their boat was just the way Anya had always dreamed, sparkly and froufy, with plenty of red; she settled happily on the waterproof cushion, tugging Xander down beside her.

“There, isn’t this nice?” She snuggled in to his chest. He hugged her tight, mumbling something through his cupcake. “Haven’t you finished that yet? We need to be smooching when we enter the tunnel, for maximum Tunnel of Love effect. I don’t want a mouthful of crumbs.” He mumbled again, but Anya was putting her foot down on the crumbs thing. If she had learned one thing over centuries of vengeance, it was that Standards Mattered.

They rounded a curve in their little boat, and ahead of them the stream diverged into two courses, each with its own tunnel. Their boat butted up against a little stopper, and Anya looked up to see a pair of ropes, one labeled “left” and the other labeled “right.”

“Oh. We have to choose?” She looked up at Xander, who shrugged, swallowing the last bits of cupcake and brushing crumbs off his lips. That was less than helpful, but she appreciated that he was preparing for the very important smooching.

After a moment of wavering, Anya reached up and pulled “right.”

The gate creaked and shifted, sending their boat off on the right-hand course.

As they approached the tunnel – oh, Anya hoped it was a _long_ tunnel! – she tipped her head up to Xander’s, and he bent down and kissed her, the very moment they were enveloped in the darkness of the tunnel, just the way it was supposed to be.

Anya made a quick mental note to buy more Hostess stock next time she was online trading, because _damn_ Xander had been leveling up his lips with all those cupcakes, and she was just starting to hope the tunnel was long enough for him to demonstrate his newfound skills somewhere other than her lips, when she was distracted by an unexpected rushing sound. She shifted her eyes to the side, trying to figure it out without having to stop kissing, and that was when she realized their little boat was accelerating, the course steepening…

And then they hit the rapids.

Anya clutched at Xander happily and he clutched her right back, hands spasming as their boat jerked and bounced and spun through the rough churning water, and oh! It was exhilarating! Not exactly what she’d had in mind, of course, but fun!

The tunnel was indeed as long as Anya had hoped, and so it was some time later when the watercourse finally smoothed out and they drifted peacefully out of the tunnel and around to the platform. She hugged Xander one last time, feeling exuberant as Pierre caught their boat, holding it steady for them to disembark. Xander was panting for some reason, which was a little funny because Anya hadn’t kissed him enough for him to be out of breath, but maybe he was just really turned on by the danger, in which case… maybe they could find a nice private porta-potty or something.

Anya was about to stand when she hesitated. “Could we… could we go again?”

Xander made a weak sound of protest behind her – he probably wanted to head to the Ferris wheel next, the romantic – but Pierre smiled and bowed, a curious light in his eyes.

“Of course, I should require you to wait in line, but… for old time’s sake.”

He pulled the lever that set their boat moving towards the tunnel again.

Anya looked up at Xander, excitement bubbling up inside, but the words died when she saw his face. He had gone greenish-white, especially around his lips, which were pressed tightly together, and he was making vague sounds of distress.

“Oh, baby. Are you seasick?” Xander nodded shakily. Anya stroked hair back from his forehead. “Don’t worry, I’ll choose left this time. I’m sure that’s going to be a nice, smooth, romantic route that won’t upset your tummy one bit.”

Tragically, it was not.

*

One overpriced roll of tickets later, Buffy and Spike were back at the front of the line. Snyder accepted their tickets gingerly, as if they were covered in mud, then opened the door and waved them into the Cliffhanger.

Buffy made a beeline straight for the kitten, snatching it up.

“All right! Now, let’s find the other two…”

She turned to head out the door, only to find it had closed behind them.

Snyder’s voice came over the loudspeaker. “ _All passengers on the Cliffhanger must take their places up against the wall._ ” There was an ominous pause, then he snickered. “ _Or else._ ”

Spike lifted an eyebrow, standing right where he was. “Or else what?” he muttered.

Buffy shivered, thinking of the feeling she’d gotten from Snyder’s hand. “I’m not sure I want to find out.” She grinned. “Besides, you know you’ve always wanted me up against the wall.”

Spike looked at her for a long moment, then spun and planted his back sullenly against the round room’s wall. Buffy giggled and settled next to him, curling the kitten protectively into her chest while her free hand sought out Spike’s.

The room started to spin, slowly at first, then faster and faster, until the centrifugal force was pressing them tight into the wall. Buffy turned her head to look at Spike, laughing, and he tilted his head down to meet her, and as the floor dropped away their lips met, a sweet promise, until Buffy felt sharp claws digging into her skin as the kitten yowled.

“Bugger,” Spike bit out, glaring at the kitten. “Can’t a fellow have a moment without a bloody kitten butting in?”

Buffy had been thinking the same thing, except about herself, and then her mind went off on what one might call that, because if it was cock-blocking for a guy, would it be…? She snorted inelegantly at the crass – yet somehow incredibly apropos, under the circumstances – term that popped into her head.

Spike kissed her again then, not dissuaded by the kitten’s continued complaining, and… well, it’s not like the kitten’s claws were very sharp, she could still enjoy the kissage, and she did, long lazy smooches until the floor came up to meet them and she realized the ride was finally slowing down.

When the ride had finally come to a full and complete stop, Snyder’s voice came over the intercom again, grudging. “ _Have a nice day._ ”

The door popped open.

Letting go of Spike’s hand, Buffy headed out the door and down the stairs – Snyder was nowhere to be seen now – and popped the still-protesting kitten in the basket Spike had left under the staircase. “One down, three to go!” she sang out cheerily, standing up and brushing off her still sticky hands – and letting out a little _eep!_ of surprise as Spike took her hand and dragged her behind the little shed that housed the ride machinery.

He pressed her back against the shed wall, grinning fiercely.

“ _Now_ I’ve got you up against the wall.”

*

Giles finished making notations in his pocket journal – to be transcribed into his official journal later – and tucked it away, sighing. He considered himself still young at heart – though his body somehow refused to quite accede to his inner conviction – but he truly did not understand the appeal of cheap, heartburn-inducing foods and nauseating rides and unseemly sideshows. Bloody teenagers.

He swept his disdainful glance across the food stands clustered like vultures near the gate, each with its own revolting specialty. Deep-fried pickles. Corn dogs. And – as if he needed any further evidence of the depths to which American “cuisine” had sunk since its solid British roots – deep-fried butter.

Deep. Fried. Butter.

“How did they ever win the war?” he muttered.

Oddly, though, when he scanned the food trucks one more time from sheer boredom, he saw something unexpected. There, just past the deep-fried, bacon-wrapped weinerschnitzel booth, a rustic wooden sign swayed in a slight breeze, advertising the “Green Goose Inn.”

Curious.

He wended his way through the throng of people until he was standing before the improbable building. It was solid and weathered, with the look of a structure that had stood reliably in one place for centuries, and even knowing it was impossible, that it was undoubtedly an evil pub, he couldn’t help but poke his nose inside.

 _Merely assessing the evil,_ he reassured himself as he walked in. _It’s vitally important that the details of this circus phenomenon be recorded for posterity, and – good lord, fish and chips!_

He could feel his mouth watering at the sight of the basket being placed before another patron. Sunnydale had its charms – or at least he told himself it did – but he hadn’t had decent fish and chips since the last time he’d returned to the mother country, and these looked more than decent.

“Help you, sir?”

The barkeep even had a friendly North London accent, beaming from a cheerful round face, and Giles almost ordered automatically before reminding himself what a terrible idea it likely was.

“No,” he said instead, regret welling up. “I fear your fish and chips are… likely too evil for my palate.”

The barkeep shrugged, swiping at the bar with a clean white cloth. “Nothing wrong with the food, mate. California rules and regulations regarding concessions are ironclad.” He leaned forward confidingly. “And the Amusement Park Food Service Union wields a bloody big stick, if you know what I mean.”

Giles wavered, then sighed. “Would it be at all possible for me to inspect the kitchen first? You’ll understand if the price I’m willing to pay for a mess of fish and chips doesn’t include my soul.”

“Be my guest!” the barkeep said genially, gesturing to the back room.

The kitchen was a reassuring level of clean – easily meeting health inspection standards, yet not so pristine as to seem sterile and unearthly. Giles meandered about, careful not to get in the way of the two cooks, who were efficiently cooking all manner of mouth-watering English fare, pies and pasties and roasted meat. Everything did seem to be on the up-and-up; he took the precaution of muttering an incantation or two for verification, but in the end it seemed to be exactly what it was: the kitchen of a traditional English pub.

Unfortunately, when he leaned in for a closer look at the deep-fat fryer, where a basket of chips was merrily bubbling away, it gave a prodigious spatter, sending a splash of oil across his glasses. Giles removed them, looking at the spots ruefully.

“Sorry ‘bout that, mate,” the barkeep said behind him. “Food’s not evil, but I fear the deep-fat fryer may be a trifle mischievous at times.”

Giles turned with an awkward smile. “No harm done. It’s just a little oil.”

“Shall I fry you up something, then, sir?”

With a sigh, Giles ordered, then seated himself at the bar, rummaging in his pocket for his handkerchief to clean his glasses.

Odd. His handkerchief was gone. He could have sworn he’d brought it.

He checked the other pockets of his jacket, then his trousers, before concluding that he must have forgotten it after all, reaching instead for the napkin dispenser on the bar.

It was empty.

He did a quick circuit of the pub, quickly determining that there was not a single napkin to be found in the place. When he returned to the bar, he leaned over to check, but even the white towel the barkeep had been using just a few minutes before had vanished.

A basket of steaming, fragrant fish and chips was set before him. “Sorry, mate. Union doesn’t have much of a say in facilities maintenance. That tends to be on the evil side.” Giles glared at the apologetic barkeep, who shrugged. “But the food’s good.”

After his first bite of the succulent fried fish, Giles could only agree.

The food was _excellent._

*

Buffy set her hands on Spike’s chest, holding him off for just a moment, because she’d had a tiny bit of space to breathe since the powdered sugar and the hands and the tongues and the teeth and…. _Focus, Buffy!_

“Spike, about the other night…”

Spike leaned in, nibbling at her earlobe “No need to explain, Slayer.”

“There isn’t?” Buffy hazily thought this was probably a good thing, because she was rapidly losing the ability to explain anything.

He turned his attention to her jaw. “Was just a kiss.”

Buffy fisted her hands, giving his chest a thump. “Hey!”

Spike looked up at her face, startled. “What?”

She could feel her lips sinking into a pout. “ _Just_ a kiss? Is that all it was to you?” Never mind that she’d tried to tell herself the same thing just the day before, now she knew it wasn’t _just_ anything, not to her, not anymore…

He put his hands on the wall of either side of her shoulders then, glaring at her. “Slayer, you are off your bird if you think I could kiss you and have it be _just_ anything.” He looked away. “Don’t want to be presumptuous, is all.”

Buffy set her hand to his cheek, encouraging him to look at her again. “Well, it wasn’t _just_ a kiss to me, either,” she said softly. “Not then, and not tonight.”

Spike swallowed, eyes softening. “So… it means something, then?”

She nodded slowly.

“And just what does it mean, then?”

Buffy smiled wryly, rolling her eyes. “I don’t know yet. But… something.”

“And if I kiss you again?” he said softly, leaning in until his lips were bare millimeters away from hers.

“That’ll mean something, too,” she said shyly, and then he _was_ kissing her, and oh, it _did_ mean something, something beautiful, something radiant, Buffy was overflowing with meaning, and she could almost put a name to it, she almost _knew…._

_Meow!_

Buffy looked over, startled, to see the calico kitten wriggling out of the basket and dashing off.

Spike pressed his forehead to Buffy’s, eyes screwed shut. “Don’t tell me. The sodding kitten just escaped again.”

Buffy sighed. “Yep.”

“All right then.” Spike gave her one last kiss in the center of her forehead, like a seal. “Let’s go fetch the bloody thing.”

They rounded the corner of the shed just in time to see the kitten gamboling around one of what looked like a set of animal enclosures, cages and barriers with, bizarrely, tents at the back of each area. As they watched, it dashed into one of the animal tents.

“Ready to take on the zoo?” Spike said, cracking his knuckles.

 

Which tent did the kitten go into?

Lion: [GO TO CHAPTER 26](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20979686)

Elephant: [GO TO CHAPTER 4](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20978729)

 


	53. Chapter 53

One look at Spike’s face when he saw the Sharky’s stand, which advertised a chili-cheese topped deep-fried blooming onion, and Buffy made her decision. She made sure to roll her eyes a bit, so Spike didn’t think she was giving in, but secretly felt oddly satisfied, getting something that Spike would enjoy too. They were about to settle at a picnic table to eat when Spike’s head jerked around.

“There it is!”

And sure enough, the black kitten was frolicking around the base of a huge, iffy-looking Ferris wheel, just inside the protective fencing.

Buffy frowned. “Think they’ll let us in to grab it?”

“What does it matter if they let us? What’s the phrase? Just do it.”

“Spike, if we get kicked out, that’s going to make it difficult to round up the other two.” Buffy shrugged. “But hey, it’s your head getting chomped on.”

Spike muttered something under his breath, then rolled his shoulders. “All right. We can pretend we’re getting on the ride, then grab the little bugger.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

The line was practically nonexistent, admissions manned by a short, balding man in a red-and-white striped jacket and a flat straw boater hat. He looked weirdly familiar to Buffy, and when they reached the front of the line, she gasped.

“Principal Snyder?”

Snyder’s eyes twitched. “Miss Summers. Should have known a delinquent like you would end up here on a school night.”

“But you’re… didn’t the Mayor eat you?” She glanced at Spike, who was munching interestedly on an onion piece, watching them like they were an episode of _Passions_. “I _knew_ this carnival was evil!”

Snyder gave her a poisonous glare, then held out his hand. “Tickets, please.”

Buffy blinked. “We don’t have any tickets.”

With a malicious grin, Snyder opened a gate that led from the line to… not in the line. “I’m afraid you can’t get on the ride without tickets. There’s a booth over there. Go purchase some, and then go back to the _end_ of the line.” He swept her with a scornful glance. “I’d suggest you go home and do some homework, but I know a lost cause when I see it.”

Buffy considered pointing out that it was summer, and that she was a college student now in any case, but she was pretty sure arguing with Snyder was a waste of time that could be better spent on… the kitten! Buffy looked over the fence at where the black kitten was ferociously grooming itself, just a few yards away. Maybe she could…

Snyder’s hand fell on her arm, and it felt… not right. “I wouldn’t if I were you, missy,” he said in a quiet, satisfied voice. The kind of voice that was a dare. And looking at his faintly glowing eyes, feeling the unnatural strength of his hand…. Well, ghost or zombie or whatever, Buffy was sure she could still kick his ass, but she was the one who’d insisted on not raising a fuss.

And what the hell, it was Spike’s supposedly-legitimately-earned money.

She grabbed Spike’s sleeve. “Come on. You’re buying.”

*

Willow knew this was a serious mission – head-chomping on the line and all – but it was hard to stay serious when you were chasing a Siamese kitten through a happy fun (maybe evil) carnival, holding hands with the woman you loved. She couldn’t keep from laughing, and when she looked over at Tara and saw her eyes shining… well, it wasn’t so long ago that she’d feared she’d lost her sweet lover for good, and every so often she’d think what a miracle it was, that they’d all come through all right after all.

Tara’s laughing face was always a miracle.

They’d had some serious heart-to-hearts after Glory and the Knights of Byzantium had been taken care of, and Willow felt like they’d come out the other side stronger, both in magic and in love. She’d gone to a dark place when she’d lost Tara, dark enough that the memory made her feel kinda sick, but Tara had helped her shine a little light in the corners of her magic, sweep out some of the cobwebs in her soul, and while she could still feel the darkness creeping around in her shadows, she felt… more secure somehow. Like the lightbulb that was Tara wouldn’t ever quite go out again, leaving her alone in the dark.

They stumbled to a gasping halt after a few minutes, giggling.

“Did you see where it went?” Tara gasped, breathless.

“There!” Willow pointed to where the kitten’s tail was just vanishing into a huge black tunnel that had a channel of water running through it. “Oh, no!” she giggled. “It’s the Tunnel of Love!”

Tara squeezed her hand, giving her that sidelong look Willow loved so much, the one full of promise, seductive and shy at the same time. “I think it may be our civic duty to go in after it.”

Willow grinned back. “I think you’re right.”

They bought a roll of tickets from a nearby booth and went through the mostly-empty line, taking seats in a comfy pink boat, all painted up with curlicues and sparklies. Willow snuggled right in to Tara’s side as the boat set off down the channel.

She was all set to light up the tunnel with magic so they could find the kitten, but as they approached the tunnel entrance, Tara turned her face to her, and the magic lighting up her eyes was all Willow could care about, and she kissed Tara’s soft lips as the darkness enveloped them.

The tunnel was quiet and cool, the sounds of the carnival fading away until all Willow could hear was the gentle swish of the flowing water and the delicious sounds Tara made as they kissed, and – oh, that was a meow, they had just passed the kitten – too bad, they would just have to go around again and in the meantime they were obligated by the Rules of the Tunnel of Love to keep kissing, which was totally all right by Willow, because Tara was anything but shy when it came to the smoochies, she was like the Queen of Kissage and Willow could spend forever lost in the taste of her.

They emerged from the tunnel some time later – it was good and long – and reluctantly separated. Tara’s eyes were full of love, and Willow kissed her one last time, on the nose, because it was there.

“We lost the kitten,” Tara said softly.

Willow smiled. “Found something more important.” Like Tara’s lips, which were also conveniently there, right below that kissable nose. “Good thing we bought lots of tickets.”

*

Andrew glanced up briefly at the smooching couple as they passed – hadn’t they gone through before? – before returning his attention to the Pokémon on his screen. It looked like a flopping goldfish, pretty unimpressive in itself, but Andrew hadn’t read every Pokémon manga and strategy guide and supplemental resource to tatters for nothing. That little floppy fishy was a Magikarp, the Little Pokémon that Could, and once caught, it would be but a trifle to evolve it into a Gyarados, the mightiest of all water Pokémon, and then, ah then… the world would be his.

It took him a little while to catch the wee beastie – long enough that the smacking sounds coming from the various passing lovebirds were starting to annoy him.

“Get a room, guys,” he muttered as he finally managed to pitch his Poké Ball at just the right angle, eagerly watching as the Magikarp was added to his Pokémon Index.

“And how many Magikarp Candy does it take to evolve _you_?” he crooned, checking the stats.

_Holy crap! Four HUNDRED?_

He did some quick math in his head. Three candy for each capture, plus one for each that he sent to the Professor, plus he had to keep at least one _to_ evolve, that meant… One hundred and one. One hundred and one Magikarp. (Which, now that he said it out in his head like that, sounded like a really awesome title for an epic Disney/Pokémon crossover fanfiction, but he kicked his muse in the head and got back to business.)

He had the one.

One hundred to go.

He resumed the hunt.

*

Anya lost track of the calico kitten almost immediately, but she really didn’t care. Over a thousand years of existence, she had seen carnivals evolve from spare gatherings of wandering merchants with maybe a lame puppet show, to the glitzy laser-light-show extravaganza that was modern Barnum and Bailey’s, and in all that time, there was one thing she’d never done.

She’d never been to a carnival with a _date_.

“We have to do it all,” she told Xander excitedly. “We have to go on the rides, and you have to hold my hand, and we’ll scream and put our hands in the air, and I’ll pretend to be scared even though I’m really not, just so I can hug you, and we can kiss at the top of the Ferris wheel and sing “You’re The One That I Want” in the Funhouse and you can win me a big stuffed animal and…”

She kept on, listing all the things she wanted to do – over a thousand years she’d built up a good list, though she supposed she would have to go without the bear-baiting at this point – as Xander resignedly paid for a roll of ride tickets, shaking his head.

Then she saw it. The ride she’d been dreaming of.

The Cliffhanger.

“Oooh!” she squealed, wrapping her arms around her honey. “This one first! This one!” She didn’t give him a chance to protest, dragging him over to where a beefy-looking guy was taking tickets.

“No food on the ride,” the attendant said in a bored tone of voice, indicating the last cupcake, still clutched in Xander’s hand. Anya rolled her eyes, unwrapped it, and stuffed it in Xander’s mouth before he could argue.

“ _Now_ can we get on the…” Something about the big guy’s voice tickled her memory, and she squinted up at his face. “Dimitri?”

He started, looking at her more closely. “Anyanka?”

Xander’s eyes bugged out, muffled noises coming from around the cupcake.

Anya smiled at him reassuringly, being quite fluent by now in Xander-Talking-With-His-Mouth-Full. “Don’t worry, sweetie, he’s not an ex-boyfriend of mine. We just went on a couple of dates, back in Leningrad…. No, wait, it was still Saint Petersburg back then.”

“Not for long, it wasn’t,” Dimitri said in a suggestive voice. Mmmm, that Russian accent of his still got her going.

Xander whimpered through the crumbs.

Anya looked Dimitri up and down. “You’re looking good.” How had he managed to keep all that muscle tone for almost a century? It wasn’t fair, especially since she’d only gotten two – admittedly hot – dates out of him before he’d thrown her over for Hallie. Or… had she dumped him for Vladimir? She couldn’t quite remember. There had been so many attractive demons at the Revolution…

He looked down his nose at her, eyes glowing reddish. “You’re looking… human.”

Anya waved her hand in dismissal. “Long story.”

Dimitri cast Xander a narrow glance. “And who is this?”

Anya clutched Xander’s arm happily. “This is my boyfriend, Xander! Xander, meet Dimitri.”

Xander mumbled something through the cupcake. He’d really slowed down at the tail end of the box – the first few he’d snarfed down in a matter of seconds. Ah well. He was still her cuddly eating champion.

Dimitri looked at them for a long moment, then took the tickets Anya was eagerly holding out, unclipping the chain to let them in.

“Enjoy the ride,” he said, his accent making it sound all deep and sinister. Anya got a little shiver. She wouldn’t trade her Xander in for a thousand Dimitris, but _mmmmm_ , that voice.

They took their places against the wall of the round room. They were the first ones in, and Anya waited expectantly for the room to fill up, but the door shut firmly as soon as they were in place, and the room began to spin.

Oh, it was just as exhilarating as she’d imagined! Spinning around and around and around, faster and faster and faster, centrifugal force pressing them into the wall. Anya managed to work her hand over to Xander’s to hold it; he clutched harder than she’d been expecting, so it wasn’t quite as romantic as she had hoped, but then the floor dropped and she laughed and laughed because they were stuck to the wall! They were stuck to the wall and there was nothing under their feet and… wow, they sure were spinning fast. Were they supposed to be going this fast? And wasn’t the ride supposed to be over by now? But whatever, Anya was having too much fun to complain, spinning around with her sweetie on the Best Ride Ever.

Eventually, though, the spinning began to slow, and the floor rose up to meet them as they started to slide down. Dimitri’s voice came over the loudspeaker telling them to remain in position until the ride had come to a full and complete stop.

“Oh, that was wonderful!” Anya gushed as the spinning slowed to a crawl. “Wasn’t it the most amazing thing ever, Xander? …Xander?”

He just clutched her hand harder.

When the ride finally stopped and the door popped open, Xander half-staggered, half-ran to the door, stumbling down the stairs and right over to a trash can, into which he vomited…. Ew. It looked like the whole box of cupcakes. Anya rushed to his side, rubbing his back consolingly.

“Thank you for riding the Cliffhanger,” Dimitri said behind them, voice dripping with satisfaction.

Xander stopped heaving eventually, and Anya fetched a few napkins from a nearby concession stand so he could clean up. “Feeling better?” she asked solicitously. This was one of the best things about being a girlfriend, having someone to pamper.

He nodded queasily.

“Okay then.” Anya clapped him bracingly on the back. “Ferris wheel next!”

She made sure to detour by a stand where they sold drinks and fished out a few dollars from Xander’s pocket to buy him a nice big Coke, to rinse the vomit out of his mouth. No use going on the Ferris wheel if his lips weren’t kissable.

Anya had it all planned out.

*

One overpriced roll of tickets later, Buffy and Spike were back at the front of the line. Snyder accepted their tickets gingerly, as if they were covered in mud, then opened the chain and waved them through to the Ferris wheel.

Buffy made a beeline straight for where she had last seen the kitten, then stopped short.

“Crap, where did it go?”

Spike looked around, then jerked his head at the Ferris wheel. “Over there, Slayer.” Sure enough, the kitten was stretched out along the seat of one of the Ferris wheel carriages, looking smug. As they watched, the wheel moved, another empty carriage sliding into position for boarding.

Snyder’s sneering voice came from behind them. “Passengers who do not board the ride promptly will forfeit their tickets and need to go through the line again.”

“Ugh.” Buffy tugged Spike after her. “Come on. At least we can keep an eye on it, catch it when we get off, right?”

They clambered into the swinging carriage, assisted by a teen that Buffy thought might have been part of her graduating class. One of the ones who hadn’t survived. He pressed the safety bar down until it locked in place, and then the Ferris wheel jerked into motion.

Spike settled into the seat as they moved backwards, offering Buffy the carton of onion blossom. They had gone way overboard on the chili cheese sauce; Buffy gingerly tugged out a piece, munching on it.

“Figures this place would be staffed by the dead,” she muttered as they made their first circuit. As they went over the top, she could see the kitten staring back at them, its yellow eyes reflecting bright pinpricks of light from the lightbulbs and neon of the ride. “It’s like Disneyland, if Disneyland were evil.”

“So, it’s exactly like Disneyland?”

Buffy glared at him. “Do _all_ my childhood dreams have to be shattered? Fine. It’s like Disneyland, except evil _er._ ” She snagged another piece of onion blossom, sighing when the cheese sauce got on her fingers. “Did you remember to grab napkins?”

Spike shrugged, taking a piece for himself. “Just lick your fingers, Slayer.”

His voice sent a jolt of awareness through her, and she shifted in the seat so she was facing him as best she could in the close confines of the carriage. He was grinning like a madman. Which Buffy was suddenly sure he was.

And maybe she was too.

“Go ahead,” he purred. “I won’t tell anyone.”

Trembling, Buffy brought her fingers to her lips.

*

Giles finished making notations in his pocket journal – to be transcribed into his official journal later – and tucked it away, sighing. He considered himself still young at heart – though his body somehow refused to quite accede to his inner conviction – but he truly did not understand the appeal of cheap, heartburn-inducing foods and nauseating rides and unseemly sideshows. Bloody teenagers.

He swept his disdainful glance across the food stands clustered like vultures near the gate, each with its own revolting specialty. Deep-fried pickles. Corn dogs. And – as if he needed any further evidence of the depths to which American “cuisine” had sunk since its solid British roots – deep-fried butter.

Deep. Fried. Butter.

“How did they ever win the war?” he muttered.

Oddly, though, when he scanned the food trucks one more time from sheer boredom, he saw something unexpected. There, just past the deep-fried, bacon-wrapped weinerschnitzel booth, a rustic wooden sign swayed in a slight breeze, advertising the “Green Goose Inn.”

Curious.

He wended his way through the throng of people until he was standing before the improbable building. It was solid and weathered, with the look of a structure that had stood reliably in one place for centuries, and even knowing it was impossible, that it was undoubtedly an evil pub, he couldn’t help but poke his nose inside.

 _Merely assessing the evil,_ he reassured himself as he walked in. _It’s vitally important that the details of this circus phenomenon be recorded for posterity, and – good lord, fish and chips!_

He could feel his mouth watering at the sight of the basket being placed before another patron. Sunnydale had its charms – or at least he told himself it did – but he hadn’t had decent fish and chips since the last time he’d returned to the mother country, and these looked more than decent.

“Help you, sir?”

The barkeep even had a friendly North London accent, beaming from a cheerful round face, and Giles almost ordered automatically before reminding himself what a terrible idea it likely was.

“No,” he said instead, regret welling up. “I fear your fish and chips are… likely too evil for my palate.”

The barkeep shrugged, swiping at the bar with a clean white cloth. “Nothing wrong with the food, mate. California rules and regulations regarding concessions are ironclad.” He leaned forward confidingly. “And the Amusement Park Food Service Union wields a bloody big stick, if you know what I mean.”

Giles wavered, then sighed. “Would it be at all possible for me to inspect the kitchen first? You’ll understand if the price I’m willing to pay for a mess of fish and chips doesn’t include my soul.”

“Be my guest!” the barkeep said genially, gesturing to the back room.

The kitchen was a reassuring level of clean – easily meeting health inspection standards, yet not so pristine as to seem sterile and unearthly. Giles meandered about, careful not to get in the way of the two cooks, who were efficiently cooking all manner of mouth-watering English fare, pies and pasties and roasted meat. Everything did seem to be on the up-and-up; he took the precaution of muttering an incantation or two for verification, but in the end it seemed to be exactly what it was: the kitchen of a traditional English pub.

Unfortunately, when he leaned in for a closer look at the deep-fat fryer, where a basket of chips was merrily bubbling away, it gave a prodigious spatter, sending a splash of oil across his glasses. Giles removed them, looking at the spots ruefully.

“Sorry ‘bout that, mate,” the barkeep said behind him. “Food’s not evil, but I fear the deep-fat fryer may be a trifle mischievous at times.”

Giles turned with an awkward smile. “No harm done. It’s just a little oil.”

“Shall I fry you up something, then, sir?”

With a sigh, Giles ordered, then seated himself at the bar, rummaging in his pocket for his handkerchief to clean his glasses.

Odd. His handkerchief was gone. He could have sworn he’d brought it.

He checked the other pockets of his jacket, then his trousers, before concluding that he must have forgotten it after all, reaching instead for the napkin dispenser on the bar.

It was empty.

He did a quick circuit of the pub, quickly determining that there was not a single napkin to be found in the place. When he returned to the bar, he leaned over to check, but even the white towel the barkeep had been using just a few minutes before had vanished.

A basket of steaming, fragrant fish and chips was set before him. “Sorry, mate. Union doesn’t have much of a say in facilities maintenance. That tends to be on the evil side.” Giles glared at the apologetic barkeep, who shrugged. “But the food’s good.”

After his first bite of the succulent fried fish, Giles could only agree.

The food was _excellent._

*

Buffy chickened out at the last second, reaching for another piece of onion. It was rude to touch a communal dish with spit on your fingers, wasn’t it? She gazed out at the carnival. It looked huge from up here, much bigger than she remembered this vacant lot being, and even as she watched, it seemed to shift and roil, like it was rearranging itself on the fly. The sight made her feel vaguely ill, so she turned back to Spike, who was watching her with hooded eyes.

Buffy took a deep breath, because tempting as it was, she couldn’t be a coward forever.

“About the other night…”

Spike shrugged, eyes skittering away. “No need to explain, Slayer.”

“There isn’t?” Oh god, what conclusions had he jumped to?

He made a show of picking out another piece of onion, studiously not looking at her. “Not harboring any expectations here. Know it didn’t mean anything.”

Buffy glared at him, unaccountably miffed. “Hey! Do you think I’m that kind of girl?”

Spike looked up at her, startled. “What kind of girl?”

She could feel her lips sinking into a pout. “The kind that would just k-kiss someone and not have it mean anything.”

He held a hand up, warding her off. “’Course not!”

“Because I’m not!” She glared at him, snatching up another piece of onion.

Spike settled back down, watching her warily. “All right then.”

“All right!” Buffy snapped.

The Ferris wheel made another full circuit as they ate, Buffy studiously not looking at Spike. Though she couldn’t help but look at his hand, clutching the basket of deep-fried onion. It was tense.

Finally, Spike ventured cautiously, “So… it meant something?”

Buffy scowled at the onion and nodded.

After a long pause, Spike sighed and went on, voice slightly impatient. “And just what did it mean, then?”

Buffy looked at him. “I don’t know yet.”

“Fair enough,” he shrugged. His eyes were guarded but glittered with something like hope, and it gave Buffy the inspiration she needed to take the next step.

She picked out a piece of onion blossom that was overloaded with cheese sauce, keeping her eyes locked on Spike’s as she brought it to her mouth. She nibbled delicately at it, taking her time, watching the way Spike’s eyes narrowed. His chest started to rise and fall, little pants that were unbearably exciting. As she finished the onion, she started to lick the sauce off her fingers, slowly and deliberately. Spike leaned forward the barest inch, his tongue slipping out to moisten his lips, and as Buffy swept her tongue around each finger, she imagined it was him doing it, and shivered.

“Your turn,” she said softly.

Spike bit his lower lip in fake indecision, as he made a show of selecting exactly the right piece to eat, then made quick work of the onion, snapping it up in a couple quick bites before showily sucking at the sauce, running his teeth along his skin. He lifted his eyebrows, holding out the carton.

Another piece, crispy and warm, and Buffy mirrored what Spike had done with his teeth, sucking each finger into her mouth, one at a time, feeling giddy from more than just the movement of the ride, the breeze in her hair. She ate another, and another.

Her hand was shaking as she reached out for yet another, like diving off a cliff, and Spike’s hand shot out like a snake, catching her by the wrist.

“Allow me,” he said softly, and slowly drew her hand to his own lips.

Buffy watched, mesmerized, as he slowly licked every bit of cheese sauce off her index finger. She shifted closer, vaguely aware that Spike had set the container of food behind him, setting his free hand on her bare knee, but this was all tangential to the fact that his tongue was sending tingles spiraling through her body as he moved on to her thumb, sucking it into his mouth, and god, it was better than she’d even imagined, she let her eyes flutter closed, falling into vertigo.

When he shifted his attention to her middle finger, she tugged on her hand.

“There’s no sauce…”

“I know,” he said darkly, eyes wicked, and then he swirled his tongue around, and she stopped resisting, sliding across the seat until her thigh was pressed against his, resting her free hand on his chest, and then when he had worked his way down to her pinky finger, pressing a last kiss in the very center of her palm, she wove her fingers together behind his neck and kissed him.

He kissed her back without hesitation, his tongue sliding deep into her mouth, tasting of onion and cheese and jalapenos, and it was delicious.

She lost track of how many times the Ferris wheel went around as they kissed, straining against the confines of the safety bar to get as close as possible, but when it rocked to a stop to let someone on or off, Buffy broke away, gasping.

Spike’s hands framed her face, and he looked at her, eyes hard. “This means something?”

Buffy nodded, shaken. “It does. It really, really does.”

“What…?” Buffy shushed him with her fingers on his lips.

“It means kiss me again and maybe I’ll figure it out.” And he was leaning in to do just that, when his eyes shot to the side, and he cursed.

“Buggering kitten’s gone,” he snarled.

“What?” Buffy looked at the carriage in front of them, and sure enough, it was empty. Spike sat forward, scanning the area with narrow eyes, finally pointing. “There it goes!”

They both watched helplessly as the kitten strolled into the center of what looked like a set of animal enclosures, cages and barriers with, bizarrely, tents at the back of each area.

Buffy gripped the safety bar in frustration. “Okay. We’ll just get off the ride and go catch it.”

Spike muttered another oath, then turned to her. “All right then. Where were we?”

Buffy was just tilting her head up for more kissage when their carriage jolted to a stop at the bottom, the smiling dead teen unlocking their safety bar. Buffy gave Spike a quick apologetic smile as she stepped out of the swaying carriage onto the platform. He followed, muttering under his breath.

They made their way to where they had seen the kitten, arriving just in time to see its tail vanish into one of the animal tents.

“Ready to take on the zoo?” Spike said, cracking his knuckles.

 

Which tent did the kitten go into?

Lion: [GO TO CHAPTER 106](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982173)

Elephant: [GO TO CHAPTER 27](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20979740)


	54. Chapter 54

The elephant enclosure had a high fence, but Buffy didn’t even pause before vaulting over, landing lightly on the packed dirt. Spike leapt after her, leaving his basket behind. Oddly, he didn’t see a single elephant.

“You _do_ realize that Slayer strength won’t do you a lick of good if an elephant steps on you,” he muttered as they approached the tent.

“So I won’t get stepped on,” she whispered back.

“Right.”

The tent was small; now that they were right up on it, it didn’t seem big enough to hold an elephant, even a baby. Spike frowned, scanning the enclosure again: dirt and pond and huge bales of hay, but he didn’t see a single animal.

“Slayer, I am a mite concerned over the lack of animals in this animal habitat.”

Buffy frowned. “Yeah. It does seem a bit deserted.”

“Maybe the elephant’s asleep?” he said doubtfully.

“Maybe.” She set her pretty jaw and gave him that look of hers, the one that said she meant business. “All right. You open the flap, and I’ll grab the kitten.”

 “Righty-ho.” Spike took firm hold of the tent flap.

“On the count of three. One… Two…”

Spike pulled open the flap of the tent and saw…

Stars.

Instead of the interior of a tent, the tent flap opened on a cool night scene, tall grasses and scrubby trees and mounded rocks shading a smooth pond that reflected the moon and stars. A breeze redolent of musky animals and green growing things teased at the canvas flap, sending ripples along the surface of the water, and he felt his jaw drop open.

“Bloody hell,” he whispered.

“Oh.” Buffy’s voice was soft and awed, and she started to step forward onto the grassy savanna.

“Wait,” Spike said, but it was too late, she was already out knee-deep in grass, turning in a slow circle.

“Look at all the stars,” she said, eyes shining in the moonlight, and Spike threw caution to the wind and stepped out with her. He glanced behind him and saw the outside of a tent just like the one they had just entered, staked out in a little clearing.

“I’m looking,” he agreed, but he was only looking at her – he’d seen skies like this in his travels, unmuted by the lights of industrial cities, but he’d never seen anything like Buffy looking at a sky like this.

 

Now that they were out in the silent wilderness, he realized he could hear… heartbeats. Just a few, but loud and slow, far slower than humans, and then there was a deep liquid gulping, and he looked up to see the huge bulk of an elephant as it drank from the waterhole.

Buffy suddenly came up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Gee. Look how alone we are,” she said softly.

He turned in her arms, slowly, reveling in the slide of her hands along his body as he leaned down to kiss her.

Their lips had barely touched when a spray of water assaulted them from behind.

“Bloody hell!” Spike bit out, his head whipping around to find the culprit. There at the watering hole, a baby elephant shook its dripping trunk triumphantly.

“Awww!” Buffy cooed, wrapping her arms around Spike’s waist. “how adorable.”

“Yeah. Bloody precious,” Spike muttered.

But Buffy took him by the hands and led him to the mounded rocks. “We should be safe up there,” she said in a voice like sin, and when he followed her up she took his face in her hands and kissed him sweetly, sinking down onto the rocks and pulling him down with her.

They kissed for long lazy minutes under the African sky, and then Buffy cuddled up to his shoulder and asked him about the constellations, because they weren’t the same as Sunnydale at all, and Spike felt… not alive, but almost alive. Alive-adjacent.

Like Buffy had enough life for the both of them.

But eventually, Buffy sighed, combing her fingers into his hair. “I suppose we should go find the kitten, huh?”

Spike shrugged. “Fair certain it’s sitting up in that tree there.” He’d heard the kitten’s racing heartbeat some minutes before – god, he could hear everything here, the world was so quiet! – but hadn’t felt the need to stop snogging because of it.

Buffy laughed and walked to the edge of the rock, collecting the Siamese kitten without further ado.

“It’s nice,” she said suddenly, looking down at the watering hole. “The elephants don’t live in a cage at all. They’ve got a whole savanna to wander around in, and the carnival is, like, their veranda.”

“Yeah, lucky them,” Spike grinned, stretching lazily on the rock.

“No, it’s really nice,” Buffy said earnestly, looking down at him. “You hear stories, you know, about how terrible animals in captivity get treated sometimes. That’s why we went all the way up the coast to sell the horses.” She looked down, blushing gorgeously. “I did a whole bunch of research on the internet, y’know? Found a place that has a nice farm for the horses to run around on when they’re not onstage. High marks from all the animal rights organizations.” She frowned pensively. “Except that one, but they’re… kinda fringey.”

Spike didn’t give a good goddamn about the horses’ bloody habitat, but it was bleeding adorable how much Buffy cared. And god knew he’d take any excuse to kiss Buffy again. So he beckoned her close enough to haul her down for a good snog, careful not to crush the kitten.

She didn’t resist.

Eventually, though, Buffy needed to come up for air, and she gave him a tight, hard hug and rolled to her feet. She looked up at the stars, then at him.

“I guess we should head back, then,” she sighed. “Check in with the guys.” She looked around, then started picking her way down from the boulder.

Spike shrugged in acknowledgment and started to follow, only to be taken by surprise when she turned and kissed him again, urgently, knocking him off-balance for a moment.

“Sorry,” she said when they were done. “The stars, y’know?”

“Yeah,” he said shakily. “Stars.”

He followed her down the rock and out of the tent and over the fence, watching Buffy as she tucked the Siamese kitten securely into his basket.

They headed off to the entrance.

[GO TO CHAPTER 49](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20980724)


	55. Chapter 55

Buffy waited until everyone was assembled before starting the sort-of-meeting, but she couldn’t help but notice a distinct lack of kittens in the other Scoobies’ possession. When Giles finally stumbled over from wherever he’d been hiding – some home base he was! – Buffy clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention.

“So, how’d it go?”

“Oooh!” Willow said happily. “We went on the Ferris Wheel…”

“It was… really nice,” Tara smiled.

Anya chimed in, “And we visited the Tunnel of Love…”

Xander belched unhappily.

Buffy interrupted their gushing (and belching). “And the kittens?”

“What kittens?” Anya asked, looking genuinely perplexed.

“We followed ours!” Willow volunteered, giving Anya a smug narrow glare. “It was so cute, all black and shiny, but… it got away.”

“Ours got away too,” Anya hurried to add. “But we totally followed it, just like we were supposed to do, until Xander got queasy and I had to put some wet napkins on his forehead.” She shrugged, not looking especially disappointed.

Giles looked vaguely in Buffy’s direction. “I have determined that this circus is indeed quite evil. On a completely unrelated note, does any of you have a napkin or handkerchief?”

Buffy opened her mouth to complain about how nobody was helping, but she quickly shut it again. They all looked so happy – well, maybe not Xander, and Giles was some weird British mix of satisfied and frustrated, but that was still, like sixty percent happy, which she well knew was a passing grade – and it’s not like she and Spike had been especially focused on-task themselves.

She snuck a quick glance at Spike, who was checking the lid of his basket to make sure it was secure. No, she was not a focused Buffy at all.

Anyhow, summer was drawing to a close, and pretty soon school was going to start up again. Didn’t they all deserve a little bit of fun?

Didn’t _Buffy_ deserve a little bit of fun?

She sighed. “All right then. See what you can find guys. We’ll meet back here in another half hour, okay? In the meantime… enjoy.”

As the Scoobies scattered and Giles settled back on his bench, pulling out his little book, she grabbed Spike by the arm and dragged him off around the corner, so she could talk to him privately.

The second they got around the corner, to a little alcove behind the ticket booth, she looked up at him and he looked down at her, eyes flaring, and they were kissing again. God, he was a good kisser. She could just stay back here and kiss him for hours and hours…

But no, that wasn’t what she’d wanted to do. She’d wanted to talk to him about something, something that had seemed really important.

Oh! That was it. Her heart sank, because she really didn’t want to say it, but, she felt she really had to.

“We have to stop kissing,” she said firmly, holding Spike away.

“All right, then,” he said affably. “Just let me know when you’ve caught your breath, and…”

“No, not just for a few seconds. For good.” She quickly amended that. “Well, for tonight.”

He looked at her for a long moment, a series of expressions crossing his face. He finally settled on sardonic, which was a bad choice as far as Buffy was concerned, because Spike was somehow sexier when he was snarking.

“Finding it hard to follow your logic here. Quite possibly because you haven’t presented any.”

She flushed. “It’s not fair to you.”

There, he was on befuddlement now, which was… still sexy. Dammit. He made an impatient keep-talking gesture.

“I told you, I… I don’t know what any of this means,” Buffy said hesitantly. “I don’t want to use you, or…”

Spike interrupted, laughing. “God, just use me already.” He leaned in for another kiss.

Buffy placed her hand over his mouth, gently but firmly. “I’m sorry, Spike.”

Spike took a step back, tilting his head so he could look down his nose in challenge. Finally, he shook his head. “Well, I’ve heard what you have to say. Think it’s a load o’ rot, but I heard it.” He stepped close again, face determined. “Like to make a counter-proposition.”

“I didn’t make a proposition!” Buffy protested. “It was the exact opposite of a proposition, in fact.”

He rolled his eyes, clearly frustrated.  “Right. I’ll just be going, then.” He turned to walk away.

“Wait!” He froze in his tracks at her voice. “What… what was your idea?”

He turned and stomped back to her, jaw twitching. “You don’t know what it means, yeah? What say we find out?”

Buffy wrapped her arms around herself. “How?”

He grinned. “Take you around the carnival, show you a good time…”

She flushed. “A good time?”

Spike smiled slyly, shaking his head. “My, my, Slayer, what must you be thinking? Not proposing anything indecent here. I’m asking you out on a date.” He shrugged easily. “Though if you’re _interested_ in something indecent, I’m more than willing…”

Buffy interrupted him before he dug that particular hole any deeper. “You want to go on a date? Here?”

“Why not?”

“Well, let’s see. Maybe because this carnival is, oh, I don’t know, _evil_?”

Spike grinned unrepentantly. “I’m a vampire. You’re a vampire slayer. This circus has tasty treats, fun and games, and potentially evil things to kill. A bit of the rough and tumble, a bit of the _rough and tumble_ …”

Buffy flushed at the downright dirty insinuation in his voice. “And kittens.”

“And kittens,” Spike agreed. “A little quest to keep things interesting. Sounds bloody perfect to me.” His eyes dropped at the end, his jaw twitching.

He expected her to say no, Buffy realized, and it was that bit of vulnerability that made up her mind. “All right, then,” she said casually. “I guess we could go on _one_ date. Since we’re here already.”

Spike’s head jerked up in surprise, eyes wide for just a moment before they narrowed. “One?”

She lifted her chin. “A second date might be negotiable. Maybe. If you make a good impression.”

“A challenge, is it?” Spike cracked his knuckles before holding out his hand. “Deal.” Buffy reached out to shake, but was caught off balance when Spike yanked on her fingers, pulling her up against him. “Think this one might be best sealed with a kiss,” he drawled.

That sounded like an excellent idea. A whole lot better than her no-kissing plan. Buffy tilted her chin up in anticipation, lips parting.

Spike’s eyes lingered on her mouth for a moment before he grinned wickedly and tugged her hand up instead, pressing a lingering kiss to her knuckles. “Let the games begin,” he whispered, lips bare inches from hers, before stepping back. “Well then,” he said conversationally. “Dunno ‘bout you, but I like to begin my dates with a bit of kibble.”

Buffy looked at him askance. “You’re going to impress me with dog food? What, are the _bits_ second base?”

“Nosh.” When Buffy rolled her eyes, Spike rolled his right back. “Food, Slayer. ‘M offering to buy you a treat.”

“You already bought me a treat.”

“Weren’t on a proper date then, were we? That was just between friends.” Spike looked at her again, and this time his face was dead serious. “Different thing, buying a treat for my lady.”

Something in his voice sent a shiver down into the pit of her stomach, and she took a deep breath before favoring him with a slow smile. “All right. I could go for another snack.” She frowned then, looking around. “But we should really look for the kittens, too. Which way should we go?”

Spike frowned thoughtfully. “Wiccas saw the black kitten by the Ferris wheel, yeah? So the Siamese was around the Tunnel of Love…”

 

Which kitten do they search for?

Black: [GO TO CHAPTER 28](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20979761)

Siamese: [GO TO CHAPTER 56](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20980853)

 


	56. Chapter 56

Unfortunately, the Siamese kitten seemed to have abandoned the Tunnel of Love, and after several minutes of fruitless searching, Buffy and Spike found themselves standing in the middle of the games concourse.

Spike looked around, stuffing his hands in his duster pockets. “Could win you a thingamabob. Traditional, isn’t it?”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “I thought you were trying to impress me. I’m not exactly the type to ooh and aah over knocking down bottles or throwing ping-ping balls into goldfish bowls.”

Spike lifted his eyebrows. “And just what _do_ you ooh and aah over, pet?”

She immediately thought of a whole bunch of things Spike could do to make her ooh and aah, and her face turned a little red. “All I’m saying is, if I want a cheap purple teddy bear, I can win my own.”

“That you could,” Spike agreed, then grinned wickedly. “Hell, if you’re feeling all girl-power, _you_ could win _me_ a thingamabob.”

Buffy laughed. “Maybe I will.”

“ _You!_ ”

Buffy spun around at the shout, which had come from a wiry little man in a striped jacket – apparently the uniform for evil carnival barkers. He was glaring at her poisonously, like she’d kicked his puppy or something.

Spike squinted past her. “Doc?”

The little man ignored Spike. “You’re the Slayer. It’s your fault…” Suddenly his face crumpled into tears. He looked so sad and pathetic and old that Buffy felt an instinctive need to comfort him, until he glared up at her through his tears again, and his eyes were gleaming black. “You’re responsible for the ending of the Great Glorificus.”

“Oh, um, Glory?” Buffy glanced at Spike briefly. “Yeah. Sorry about that.” She tried very hard to make her voice sound actually sorry, but she was pretty sure she didn’t succeed. Kinda hard to regret the death of an evil bitch hellgod who’d been brain-sucking people left and right and specifically targeting her sister.

But Doc was back to mournful tears. “I was all set up with a job in her infernal court,” he said. “But now business is so bad I had to get a part-time job just to afford rent. It was this or being a greeter at Walmart.” He shuddered.

“Yeah.” Buffy looked at Spike, who was engrossed in something just past Doc’s shoulder; Buffy craned her neck and saw a display of small plushies on carabiner clips, weird little monsters or creatures, dozens of different ones just hanging from a display.

He caught her glance and jerked his chin at the display. “Win me one o’ those, love?” His voice was both cajoling and teasing.

Buffy looked up at the sign over the tearful old man’s head. TEST YOUR STRENGTH! was written in huge red letters, as if exploding. Next to it, a thermometer-like pole rose ten feet in the air, marked along its length with judgments ranging from BABY to SUPERMAN.

“Excuse me,” the old man sniffled. “Didn’t mean to neglect my job.” His voice changed, becoming bright and enthusiastic. “Step right up! Test your strength! Find out if you’re a man or a boy!” He swished his striped cane around dramatically, as if he were the Master of Ceremonies at the creepiest cabaret ever.

Spike waggled his eyebrows at Buffy. “Oh yes, do let’s find out if you’re a man!”

She flexed her hands dramatically. “Man enough to kick _your_ behind,” she grinned, holding out her hand to the creepy barker for the mallet. Spike peeled off a number of tickets from his roll, stepping to one side to watch, eyes glittering avidly.

“Oh,” Doc said in a regretful voice. “You’re the Slayer, so… I’m afraid you need to have a bit of a handicap.” He reached behind the prize display and fiddled with something. Immediately the thermometer shot up, growing and growing until the bell at the top was a good twenty-five feet in the air. “In the interest of fairness, you understand.”

Buffy glared at the little creep, noticing suddenly the rat-like tail coming from beneath his jacket. “Oh yes. Totally fair.” She quickly assessed the game. “How high do I have to get the thingie to win a prize?”

“It’s a puck,” Doc said solicitously. “And it’s not easy. You have to ring the bell. Although if you make it halfway, I am prepared to offer you this very stylish eraser as a consolation prize…”

“Gosh,” Buffy said, batting her eyes. “That does seem hard.” And she swung the mallet over her head and smashed it down with all her strength.

The puck flew upwards like a cannonball, crashing right into the bell; with a resounding peal, the top of the game exploded, splinters of wood falling down like rain while the bell itself, dented and misshapen, landed on the ground at Buffy’s feet, still vibrating.

“Pick out your prize, Spike,” she said loftily.

Doc barely even seemed fazed, reaching behind him and taking one of the little plushies off the rack. “This must be the one you want.” He held out a little yellow mouse thing that looked kind of familiar to Buffy. His grin managed to be both charming and vaguely disturbing at the same time.

Spike ignored the offer, decisively pointing at a lumpy oyster-looking thing with a silly cartoon glare stitched onto the black pearl inside. “That one.”

Doc blinked. “Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer this one? It’s our most popular.”

Spike glared at him. “Yeah. I bet it is. Also most likely to be cursed.” He reached out and took the one he’d requested. “This little bugger’ll do me fine.”

Doc’s eyes narrowed dangerously for a moment before he gave a determinedly affable grin. “Well, perhaps your girlfriend would like to play again? Win you the whole set?” He gestured at the game, which was suddenly pristine and whole again.

“I’m thinking not,” Buffy grinned, taking Spike by the elbow. “My date and I have a prior engagement with something fattening and bad for me. In a non-cursey kind of way.”

Spike gave the little old man a jaunty salute as they left.

“So,” Buffy said as they walked away, Spike clipping the little stuffie onto his basket. “A clam.”

“Cloyster,” Spike corrected automatically, then rolled his eyes. “Little fellow’s a badass. Shoots spikes and all.” He gave the little toy a spin. “Got a Spike Cannon even.”

Buffy nodded as if she had a clue what he was talking about, but then Spike took her by the hand and pulled her into an alcove behind the goldfish-bowl game, setting her up against the wooden wall.

“Thank you for winning me a prezzie,” he purred, eyes heavy-lidded. He was quivering with energy.

Buffy grinned up at him. “Well, I hear it’s the traditional thing to do on a carnival date.”

He set his hands flat against the wall on either side of her waist. “Love watching you break things,” he muttered. “It’s bloody hot.”

She looked at him askance. “Breaking things is sexy?”

“Damn sexy,” he confirmed. “All that danger… power…” He groaned and kissed her, hard, and she snaked her arms up around his neck and met his passion with her own. How many times had they kissed so far tonight? She vaguely tried to count in her head, but then gave it up, because in the end there was only one possible answer: not enough.

It wasn’t enough.

*

Anya cuddled into Xander as they strolled through the romantic lights of the carnival.

“How are you feeling, sweetie?” she asked solicitously.

He grunted vaguely in response, but Anya was fluent in all the Xander sounds, and easily interpreted it as meaning _“Quite well, my beloved darling, as long as you are by my side.”_  

“That’s nice,” she said happily. “You know, I thought Buffy was just going to get us in unnecessary danger, bringing us with to this place, but I’m having a wonderful time. Aren’t you?”

Another grunt _. “Blissful indeed, my adorable sex kitten.”_

Anya hugged him tighter. “Are you well enough to go on another ride? Because the carnival isn’t staying forever, Buffy’s going to slay it.”

Grunt. _“Whatever you wish, my precious love.”_

Not-talking Xander was such a sweet-talker. “Okay, let’s do that one next!” Anya bubbled.

Xander whimpered joyfully as Anya tugged him towards the Tilt-a-Whirl.

*

Andrew ducked behind the Tilt-a-Whirl ticket booth, watching through narrowed eyes as Warren and Jonathan walked past. Normally, he would be keen to share his exciting new adventure with the only friends he had managed to find since Sunnydale High, but Future Andrew had been very clear.

Warren and Jonathan were lame.

But he didn’t need them anyhow. He already had managed to capture dozens of Pokémon – even a couple that’d had red circles – and he was well on his way to Pokémon Mastery.

He didn’t need Warren or Jonathan.

He didn’t need them at all.

He looked at his screen, at the lone Andrew mirrored there.

Well, maybe he’d show them later, if he got tired of being alone.

*

Giles glared impotently at his little notebook. He had intended to take down his observations about the evil pub and its evil deep-fryer, but the oil on his glasses was making it difficult for him to focus and… well, there was no getting around it, he had to deal with the bitter truth that he, Ripper, now wore bifocals, and thus could not write in his own notebook without his glasses, unless he placed the page three inches from his nose, at which point the fountain pens he preferred would not write properly. Pencil would do in a pinch, but smudged far too easily for permanent records.

Was it too much to ask to be allowed to be mature and yet to possess a young body?

Grumbling, he tucked his book away again. He might as well investigate the surroundings further. He had a mind like a steel trap; surely he could remember his observations until he was able to record them.

And perhaps he would be able to find a booth with napkins.

Three booths later, he had given up hope of finding anything with which he could clean his glasses. The funnel cake had proven innocent. The ice cream was innocuous. And the deep-fried Twinkies were… Well. They were deep-fried Twinkies, which was appalling in the extreme, but they seemed to be free of demonic influence, other than the usual Hostess aura.

He had grave doubts about the candy floss, however.

He leaned in close, peering at the machine as it spun at high speed. “And you’re quite certain the ingredients used in this dessert are merely sugar, food coloring, and natural flavorings?” he inquired in a businesslike fashion.

The teen girl operating the machine shrugged. “Basically. Though I think we might use FD&C Red Number Forty. I think that might be evil?”

Giles leaned in a little closer, and at that very moment the machine gave a little extra spurt of energy, spraying filaments of candy floss across his glasses.

“Ah, yes,” he said wryly. “Evil indeed.”

*

Willow laced her fingers into Tara’s as they walked along the games concourse. They had dutifully checked out the area of the Ferris wheel for the black kitten, but there had been no sign of it, and it seemed silly to spend the whole half hour searching the same tent flaps over and over, when there was a whole carnival to explore. So here she was with her sweetie taking in all the sights, the flashing lights and the cheery music and all the people having fun…

 _Holy Toledo!_ Willow quickly averted her eyes from the couple making out behind the goldfish-bowl game.

Tara glanced behind them, curious. “Wow. Was that Spike?”

Willow shrugged casually. “Sure looked like it. He’s got the hair, and the coat…”

“Kissing Buffy.” Tara’s eyes were gleaming.

Willow waved a hand dismissively. “Nah, I’m sure it was just some punk girl he picked up…” She sighed in resignation. “Yeah, that was Buffy. I recognized the boots.” It had been hard to miss the boots, with her leg all hiked up like that.

Tara squeezed her hand. “You know what this means, right?”

Willow turned a mock-scowl on her girlfriend. “Fine! You have officially won the bet. I owe you a Coke, or a similar prize of equivalent value of your choice.”

Tara beamed brilliantly, swinging their joined hands, and Willow couldn’t help but laugh.

It had been a good month before tonight that Tara had casually mentioned to Willow that she thought there might be something going on between Buffy and Spike – something about how their auras were changing color, or a red thread joining them, or something else that Tara could see and Willow couldn’t – and of course Willow had scoffed at the very idea, because anyone could see that Buffy and Spike were just hanging around together because the rest of the Scoobies were all couple-y and so the two lone wolves were just lone-wolfing together by default. But Tara had insisted, and Willow thought Tara was even more beautiful when she was confident, and so they’d shaken on the bet, Willow sure that she was going to win, because even though everyone knew Spike was infatuated with Buffy, there was no way _Buffy_ would ever go for _Spike_ , not in a million years.

But then… she’d started noticing, too.

Nothing big, of course – Buffy certainly hadn’t been gushing to Willow about Spike the way she had about all her previous boyfriends – but little tiny things. The way Buffy watched Spike when he wasn’t looking, little bemused glances, all the stranger because they were so brief. How Buffy danced a little sexier when Spike was around. The growing preponderance of red in Buffy’s wardrobe. The sentence-finishing when they were discussing patrol – and the fact that they were patrolling together in the first place. Touches – nothing that would qualify as a caress, of course, but little casual contacts that were made non-casual by the way Buffy and Spike studiously tried too hard to be casual, _not looking_ at each other with such determination that it was more telling than if they’d been making moon-eyes.

And once Willow started noticing, she couldn’t very well stop, especially with Tara _also_ noticing, and occasionally giving her a significant look or hand squeeze. One memorable Scooby meeting, Willow had started a couple of sets of tally-marks in her notebook, one for Buffy and one for Spike, making a mark every time there was a touch or a look or a shared joke, and at the end of the night, looking at her tally, she had known for sure.

Eventually, she was going to owe Tara a Coke.

And given what she’d seen just now, the hiked-up leg and the wandering hands and the way Buffy and Spike had been kissing, like they were literally incapable of stopping… _eventually_ had definitely come to call.

But all of this was, if she were perfectly honest, less important than Tara’s warm hand in hers, and the way Tara was looking around at the midway games, as if she’d never seen them before.

Wait.

“Tara, is this your first time at a carnival?”

She flushed in response. “Well, no, not really, but… my father didn’t really approve of the games. He thought they were run by swindlers.”

Willow grinned. “Oh, they _are_ run by swindlers. But you can still have fun.” She gestured at the goldfish bowl game. “For example, did you know I spent hours of my youth perfecting my ping-pong ball throwing technique? I won a goldfish at the county fair every year for five years in a row.”

“So you had five goldfish?”

“Well, no,” Willow said sheepishly. “Just one at a time. They, um, usually didn’t live very long after. That’s where the swindle came in.”

Tara looked up at the prizes. “They have stuffed goldfish here. Those won’t die.”

Willow nodded sagely. “This is true. But those big prizes up there? You only win them if you play the game, like, a hundred times. The actual prize you win for one go through is a lot smaller. That’s the other part of the swindle.”

“Oh.”

Willow took both of Tara’s hands in hers. “But I bet I can still do it.” She smiled, feeling her joy bubble out. “Whaddya say? Want me to win you a crappy little prize?”

Tara grinned slyly. “Do I get to kiss you behind the booth after?”

“Only if you want to,” Willow reassured her, then frowned. “And if Spike and Buffy are gone, because otherwise that would be kinda awkward.”

Willow handed the teen working the game some tickets – she thought she remembered him from English class, but she had to be mistaken, because she was sure Jared had been killed at Graduation – and accepted her five ping-pong balls.

“Now, watch the master.”

The first two balls lobbed easily into bowls. The third she put a little too much power into and it ricocheted off the rim. The fourth she overcompensated; it fell just barely short of the table of bowls.

“Three in to win,” not-Jared said in a bored tone of voice.

Willow narrowed her eyes, aiming. She knew she could call on the magicks, a little hint of breeze to get the ball just where she wanted, but… she and Tara had been working on this. Not just how to use the magic, but when to use the magic, and while Willow sometimes disagreed with Tara, this she knew for certain: Tara wouldn’t be happy with magical cheating.

And Willow liked Tara happy.

She aimed and tossed the last ball, and it plopped right into the center bowl, and probably-not-Jared pulled out the inevitable tray of first-round prizes from its hiding place under the counter, absently suggesting that they use more tickets and try for a bigger prize.

Tara pondered the selection carefully before choosing a little gummy-plastic goldfish keychain, but the way she looked up at Willow after made her feel like the Queen of the Midway, and even though Buffy and Spike were still at it when they went past their alcove – Willow murmured a little “you go, girl!” as they passed – they were able to find another private little corner for a smidgen of smoocharama.

It was magic.

*

“Was that Willow I just heard?” Buffy said into Spike’s lips, looking around. They were still all alone, though, and Spike just hiked her leg a little higher, his hand nestling comfortably into the little dent where her thigh met her butt, fingers just shy of the edge of her panties, while he planted sweet little kisses down her throat.

“Must be your imagination,” Spike murmured absently, bringing a hint of teeth into play.

But the moment was broken for Buffy, and she extricated herself from Spike’s grip, tugging her clothing back into place. “I thought we were going to start this date with a snack,” she muttered, a little petulant because… well, it wasn’t really any of Willow’s business, but that didn’t mean she wanted her _watching_ them.

Spike sighed, but stood up straight, tugging his duster back into place. “All right then.”

He seemed a little pouty, and, well, Buffy felt a little pouty, so she tucked her hand into his as they strolled towards the various food carts, winding her fingers and her arm with his and rubbing her cheek against his shoulder.

It was nice.

“So, what’s your pleasure?” Spike said, just a hint of innuendo in his voice.

Buffy took a deep breath, resisting the suggestion for the moment, and chose…

 

What treat does Buffy want?

Deep-Fried Twinkie: [GO TO CHAPTER 58](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20980886)

Ice Cream: [GO TO CHAPTER 86](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981753)

Cream Puff: [GO TO CHAPTER 47](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20980679)

Deep-Fried Butter: [GO TO CHAPTER 103](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982128)


	57. Chapter 57

Buffy had just accepted the cream puff from the teenage cashier when Spike tugged at her arm.

“There it goes,” he said, pointing towards the carousel.

Sure enough, the calico kitten had leapt onto the slowly turning platform and was seated on one of the bench seats, placidly licking its paw. Buffy was about to vault over the fence when a familiar, grating voice froze her in place.

“There will be no line-cutting at my carousel, missy!”

Buffy turned in slow disbelief. “Principal Snyder?” And it _was_ Principal Snyder, looking just as sullen and ratlike as he had been at the Ferris Wheel, tugging officiously at his striped carny jacket. Which was pretty weird, but Buffy had to admit having multiple undead incarnations of Principal Snyder running the attractions at this very-obviously-evil carnival was no weirder than having just the one.

He glared at them, adjusting the trim of his straw boater. “You juvenile delinquents get in line and wait your turn.”

Buffy looked over at the empty line corral. “There is no line.”

“Of course there’s a line. Just because there’s no people waiting doesn’t mean you can just jump over the fence like hippies. You have to follow the proper procedures for getting on the ride…”

He looked like he was launching into a lecture, so Buffy rolled her eyes and dragged Spike to the line opening, where a creepy-looking clown on a sign declared they needed to be THIS TALL to ride the carousel, and back and forth along the path of the line, until finally they were standing in front of Principal Snyder. Up close, he was vaguely transparent.

“Tickets, please,” he said in a viciously bored voice.

Spike peeled two tickets off the roll they had acquired earlier and set them in Snyder’s outstretched hand, which seemed solid enough. He took the tickets and inspected each one suspiciously before unhooking the chain and allowing them in.

Buffy jumped onto the carousel and started winding through the horses towards the kitten’s bench as the ride started moving, calliope music blaring from the speakers. After she had taken just a few steps, though, the music cut out and was replaced by Snyder’s sneering voice.

“ _No walking on the carousel platform while the ride is in motion._ ” The aggressively-cheerful music resumed.

Spike came up beside her and shrugged. “What’s he going to do, send us to summer school?”

Buffy frowned. The carousel had come back around to where she could see Snyder’s face, and something about his smug smile made her hesitate. “I don’t know,” she said reluctantly. “But I’m not sure I want to find out. There’s obviously something not right here, and until we know what it is…”

Spike rolled his eyes, but stopped walking, fixing gimlet eyes on the kitten’s bench in front of them. Buffy wrapped her free hand around one of the metal poles, regarding her cream puff. It was huge, puffed high with fluffy cream, and it was hard to even figure out where to start, but finally she picked an edge that looked manageable and was about to take her first bite when the music cut out again.

“ _All riders on the carousel must be seated on an animal while the ride is in motion_.”

“Bugger that,” Spike muttered.

Buffy smirked at him sidelong. “I dunno. I kind of like the idea of you sitting on a pink pony.” She looked at Snyder’s face again as they passed by. “And I really don’t like that smile of his.”

With a long-suffering sigh, Spike set his basket on the wooden platform, glared at the bubble-gum pink unicorn beside him, then stuck his combat-booted foot in the shiny stirrup and slung his leg over like he was mounting a motorcycle. After a moment’s hesitation, he rested his hands on his thighs, fingers twitching with annoyance as the sparkly pink beast moved up and down. “Saddle up, Slayer,” he groused.

Buffy slipped onto her own horse, glittering lavender with blue roses in its carved curls of mane. It was weird riding a fake horse after getting to ride a real horse not all that long ago; she couldn’t help but compare the motion. The jerky rock of the carousel was almost harder to bear than her first foray into trotting – which thankfully had not lasted long, as Buffy’s horse hadn’t been the trotting sort. But whatever, they could deal with one round on the carousel, then snatch up the kitten and be on their way. In the meantime, she had a snack to enjoy.

She took a delicate nibble of the flaky light pastry, catching just a taste of the cream, and let out an involuntary _mmmmm_ of enjoyment.

Which was echoed from right beside her.

Startled, Buffy looked over to see Spike watching her with interest. “Shouldn’t you be keeping an eye on our fugitive?” she muttered self-consciously.

“Kitten’s not going anywhere,” he shrugged, twisting so he could rest his elbow on his pink unicorn’s head. “Rather watch you eat.”

Buffy narrowed her eyes. “And why is that?”

He lifted his eyebrows. “You really need to ask?”

She could feel her face turning red, but she wasn’t going to let her treat go to waste. It really was sinfully good. _Probably evil_ , she concluded, then took another nibble. _And evil sure tastes good._

Spike was still watching her, eyes amused, and she could feel her breathing accelerating, because really, it shouldn’t be possible to look like sex-on-a-stick when mounted on a pink wooden unicorn with glitter and roses, but there he was, and after all the kissing they’d done earlier, she was ready for more. And… they had decided this was a date, hadn’t they? Buffy had been single for a while, not really active on the dating scene, but she was starting to get the idea that this date wasn’t going to end with a chaste kiss at her door.

 _And why the hell should it?_ she thought suddenly. She was young and free and old enough to know what she wanted. And what she wanted right now…

She wanted to eat her cream puff, that’s what she wanted. And she really, really wanted Spike to enjoy the show.

One big bite of the cream puff, though, and she realized the huge pastry was more than she could handle; cream got on her cheeks and her chin, and when she shifted it around in her hands so she could try to wipe the mess off with her knuckle, she was stopped by a cool hand around her wrist.

“Allow me,” Spike purred, and then he started delicately licking the cream off her jaw.

He was standing beside her, Buffy hazily realized a bit later, one hand planted on the back of her saddle while the other had somehow made its way between her legs and under her skirt, his thumb bare millimeters shy of her panties. “You need to be on your unicorn,” she said breathlessly, taking another teasing bite of her cream puff.

“When you’re over here covered in sweet cream?” he muttered. “Not bloody likely.” Then his thumb shifted over about an inch, and Buffy had to agree that he needed to stay right where he was, except oh god she needed more of that. She took another bite and rocked into his wicked thumb, and then he was kissing her, sucking the cream right out of her mouth as his thumb stroked whimpers and muffled cries out of her.

Another blared announcement about remaining seated while the carousel was in motion came from the speakers above them, but Buffy didn’t care anymore, she had no room in her existence for anything but Spike’s hands and his tongue and his _eyes_ burning into her, and she had just slung her leg back over to wrap her legs around Spike’s waist when she felt a firm hand on her shoulder.

She jolted out of her haze of lust and turned to meet Snyder’s smug, malicious gaze.

“I’m afraid Public Displays of Affection are against the rules of this family establishment, Miss Summers,” he said with a faint, nasty smile, then sighed. “You know, some pleasures you get to enjoy only once in life. It’s truly a miracle when you get to experience one again in death.” His hand tightened on her shoulder. “ _You’re expelled._ ”

And the colors and sounds of the carousel swirled together in Buffy’s vision, until she suddenly found herself standing at the perimeter of the carnival, Spike by her side.

There was a long silent moment while Buffy’s body and hormones cooled, then Spike suddenly swore.

“Bloody hell, where’s my bloody kittens?”

Buffy took a deep breath. “Don’t worry, we’ll find them. We just need to circle the perimeter, get to the entrance. We can find them again.”

But they circled the entire carnival once, and then again to make sure, and there was no denying it.

The entrance was gone.

They had been banned from the carnival. Forever.

“Goddammit,” Buffy finally grumbled. “I didn’t even get to finish my cream puff.”

THE END

 

Would you like to try again? [Go to Chapter 1!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20978552)

[Read the Author’s Notes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20983016)


	58. Chapter 58

Buffy accepted the deep-fried Twinkie from the visored teen cashier with a sigh of anticipation. She tried to eat relatively nutritiously most of the time, but given that she was a college student and her fellows basically lived on beer and pizza, that mostly meant she ate the occasional salad and went for frozen yogurt instead of over-processed pastries when dessert rolled around. The end result of this was that she was always vaguely hungry, and had a constant craving for creamy Hostess filling.

But tonight, she was at the carnival, which was a special occasion despite the evil, and she was on a date, which made it even more special even though she was dating someone usually classified as evil, and furthermore Spike was buying, which as everyone knew immediately negated the caloric content of the food, and so screw it. She was going to indulge.

And actually, that sounded like a good plan for the evening. Indulging. Indulging in carnival food and indulging in some mayhem and most of all, indulging all those delectable fantasies she hadn’t been able to wipe from her brain.

Spike rejoined her, stuffing his change in the pockets of his duster, and jerked his head towards an empty picnic table with a good vantage point of the midway.

“Sit for a spell, Slayer?”

Buffy nodded, nibbling delicately at the end of her hot pastry as they sat. The cake was soft and tender, the cream warm and oozing, and she let out a little moan of pleasure. God, she would probably regret this later, maybe even feel sick, but it sure tasted good in the moment.

Spike settled next to her, back to the table, elbows hiked up, but he was watching her eat like she was a Passions marathon – she knew what this was like because he’d talked her into watching one with him earlier in the summer, which had been an illuminating and weirdly entertaining experience – and she found herself watching him back through her eyelashes. He had this way of going completely still, eyes intent and relentless like a cat watching a moth, and it was both disconcerting and somehow arousing, because she was fully aware that he was no housecat, he was more like a panther ready to pounce, and… she kind of wanted him to.

No, no more being coy and avoidy. She _really_ wanted him to pounce. She was indulgey-girl tonight, and she was damn well going to indulge.

So she took her time eating the Twinkie, swirling her tongue through the warm cream and watching as Spike’s tongue crept out the tiniest bit, as if he were tasting the sweetness on her lips. She let her eyes linger on his lips as she nibbled at the cake, and drift down his throat as she licked at the cream, and he was shifting closer to her now, his thigh pressed against hers, and when one arm crept down and snaked around her waist, she just closed her eyes and ate more lasciviously, reading his arousal in the pulse of his hand at her waist, until the Twinkie was all gone and she was left with nothing but the stick.

She opened her eyes and met Spike’s, closing her teeth deliberately around the bit of wood and scraping the last bits of pastry off. He groaned slightly and leaned in, and she kissed him, tender and sweet, the cherry on top of her sweet treat.

She pulled away from his clinging lips a moment later. “We have to find the kitten,” she whispered breathily.

“Sod the kitten,” Spike breathed back, kissing her again.

But Buffy pulled away again. “Here’s the thing, Spike,” she said, trying to make her voice firm instead of sultry and not really succeeding. “I like your head where it is. You know, attached to your body?” She gave him one last lingering kiss. “I can’t imagine why…”

Spike rolled his eyes, then fell back against the table, grouchily scanning the area. “Right. Let’s get this done, then.” Finally he nodded his head off to the right. “There.”

Buffy followed his gaze and watched as the Siamese kitten cautiously ventured into a cave along the path of what looked like a long wide gutter, though she couldn’t see very clearly through a screen of foliage. “Klondike Log Jam!” announced a huge sign above the line entrance, and the accompanying illustration indicated it was some sort of water ride.

Spike raised his eyebrows, lolling his head back to meet her eyes. “Ready to get _wet_ , Slayer?” he said in a tone of voice so filthy Buffy felt like she needed a shower. Except she needed Spike to also be in the shower, scrubbing her down.

But all she could do was nod, because… yeah. She _was_ ready to get wet.

 _God,_ was she ready.

*

Spike stepped cautiously into the floating log. The logs were apparently designed for very friendly riders, with a raised bench down the middle and no seat backs except for the rearmost passenger. Spike claimed that rear seat for himself, holding Buffy’s hand as she settled in front of him.

Another couple was heading for their log, but Spike flashed a bit of fang up at the attendant. “This one’s full,” he said pointedly, and the attendant gulped in gratifying fear and pulled the lever to set them loose down the channel.

Buffy twisted to glare suspiciously over her shoulder. “Spike, did you just…?”

Spike returned her gaze innocently. “Just made a suggestion, love.”

The path of the ride was screened with plastic greenery and Styrofoam rocks – undoubtedly to give it a dash of real-Klondike-wilderness ambiance – and the logs were spaced far out along the route, so it was like being in their own little world. Spike sent a quick prayer up to whatever higher power might be on the side of a creature like himself, then slipped his arms around Buffy’s waist, encouraging her to slide back. She huffed out a sigh that said clearly she knew exactly what he was about, but she scooted back anyhow until she was nestled up against him, relaxing back against his chest.

Spike let his eyes close and lowered his head to press a light kiss to her neck, and god, it was heaven, having her pressed up against him, warm and strong and _his_ for at least the space of this ride, her hair soft under his lips and her chest rising and falling with every breath – and she was breathing faster now, he noticed with interest. Perhaps her little tease with that cream-filled torture device had affected her as well…

God, it was risky, but risk was what Spike did, it was who he was, and so he tightened his arms about her and slid his lips up to her ear, catching her earlobe between his teeth. “Wonder how long this ride is,” he said softly.

Buffy quivered, sliding her hands back to grasp his knees. “Who knows?”

He pressed his forehead to the nape of her neck, then slid his hands under her shirt. “Long enough for this?” He’d known she wasn’t wearing a bra – he’d have needed to be dust on the wind not to notice – but it still felt like a miracle when he glided his hands up along her skin to cup her perfect breasts, her nipples rock-hard against his palms.

“Oh god,” Buffy breathed, arching into his hands. Her fingers were digging into his thighs painfully, and her arse was pressed right up against his cock, and he revised his definition of heaven, because this was more than he’d ever imagined, Buffy wanted him, she _wanted_ him, and he felt humbled and powerful all at once, feeling her shiver against him.

Their log rounded a corner, bumping against the sides of the channel, and they headed into the first hill of the ride; Spike grinned and spread his fingers to expose Buffy’s nipples to the cold splash of water at the bottom; it soaked the front of her shirt and she gasped at the shock, falling back against him. He nibbled along the line of her neck. “Cold, pet?”

They were rounding another curve, and Buffy squeezed his knees. “That’s the tunnel the kitten went into,” she said urgently, then abruptly cupped her hands over Spike’s. “Don’t stop. I can catch it.”

Spike laughed into her shoulder. “Wouldn’t dream of stopping,” he muttered brokenly, then slid one hand free, gliding it over her quivering stomach.

“What are you doing?” Buffy shifted restlessly against him.

“Whole point of this ride is to get wet,” he purred, tucking his hand under the hem of her skirt. “Far be it from me to argue.” And he stroked his fingers over her panties, along the seam of her glorious quim.

“Oh!”

“Ah, I see you’ve got a head start.” The damp cotton under his fingers shifted as she pressed into his hand, and he indulged her, stroking the fabric against her. “Watch out for the kitten.”

As their boat entered the tunnel, Spike scooped his fingers up and in, inside the elastic and down through her glorious wetness – oh god, she was _hot_ and her clit was hard and throbbing against his fingertips and he swore bitterly into her shoulder as she cried out, her voice echoing through the tunnel like a symphony. Spike caught a flash of motion out of the corner of his eye as the Siamese kitten startled at the noise and dashed out of the tunnel.

“The kitten!” Buffy moaned, pulsing her hips against his hand – which serendipitously also meant pulsing against his cock.

“Can wait,” Spike growled, nuzzling into her throat.

“Okay,” Buffy said faintly, and then she let her head fall back on his shoulder.

They went down another hill and Spike lifted his hand, yanking her skirt up so the splash of cold water soaked Buffy’s panties this time, and then dove right back in because he could tell she was close, and as they cranked up to the top of what had to be the final hill, the highest one, he egged her on, muttering encouragements into her ear, until she was frantic against his hand, and at the very top of the hill, their log teetering over the edge, he sank his teeth into her earlobe and pinched her nipple and gave her one long sweep of his hand all through her wetness, giving her clit a careful flick with his fingernail, and then cupped his hand over her as she came and they fell, a last huge splash of water baptizing them at the bottom, which was just right, because Spike had found religion, he was born again, washed clean by Buffy’s pure celestial ecstasy.

He solicitously rearranged Buffy’s clothing as they floated back towards the dock, offering Buffy a hand up and out when he realized her legs were shaking.

When they were on the platform again, their log being turned over to some family of four, Buffy turned to him, and… her eyes. He had never seen that look in them before, not directed at her twat ex, nor at Angel, nor even at Spike himself when she’d been magicked into loving him. He couldn’t even name what he was seeing in them now, except that they were… hers.

And maybe a little bit his.

She opened her mouth like she wanted to say something, but then her eyes flickered to the side, past his shoulder, and he turned to look. The Siamese kitten was out in the open walkway, chasing a bloody butterfly, and as they watched it ducked into one of the tents.

Buffy caught up his hand and grinned. “I think we have a rogue kitten to catch.”

She followed the kitten and Spike followed her, because that was what he did. That was who he was.

He followed Buffy.

 

Which tent did the kitten go into?

Arcade: [GO TO CHAPTER 123](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982530)

Sideshows: [GO TO CHAPTER 62](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981006)


	59. Chapter 59

Spike peeled off a tenner to pay for the hideously-overpriced vanilla ice cream, making sure Buffy was watching when he stuffed the change in the tip jar, because while he didn’t give a good goddamn about the teen cashier’s well-being, he had learned some time ago that Buffy had Strong Opinions regarding tipping, and Buffy’s good opinion was something he did give a damn about.

And if he were totally honest, ten measly dollars was a small price to pay for the blissful look on Buffy’s face when she took her first taste of the soft-serve, her sweet pink tongue licking at the melting surface. But then he caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye, and sighed, nudging Buffy’s arm.

“There it goes,” he said, jerking his chin in the direction the black kitten was going.

They followed it to a huge ride that loomed over the carnival – one Spike recognized instantly.

Buffy frowned up at it. “Isn’t this a bit big for a traveling carnival?”

But Spike couldn’t help but rub his hands in anticipation. “Brilliant! It’s the Sky Whirl! Always wanted to ride this one.”

The ride had three huge arms, each of which supported a dozen carriages, solid at the bottom with a cage window circling the top half. Two were up in the air, circling slowly high above the carnival, while the carriages of the third rested on the ground for boarding. Eyes narrowed, Spike took Buffy’s hand and took her towards the attendant, peeling off tickets from his diminishing roll to pay for their ride.

Buffy looked at him askance as he tugged her towards the boarding area. “Aren’t we supposed to be catching a kitten?”

Spike grinned, breaking into a lope. “That we are, love. And here it is.”

He handed her into one of the cages, and there the black kitten sat, gazing at them in surprise. Spike pulled the carriage door shut behind him, latching it securely. “And now it can’t get away.” The attendant came by their carriage, checking the latch and moving on.

Buffy settled onto the round bench that ringed the carriage, sighing. “And neither can we.” They lifted off the ground then, their wheel starting to rotate slowly as the arm lifted up into the air.

Spike settled next to Buffy, putting his arm around her. The kitten was playing with some bit of fluff on the floor. “Thought I’d missed my chance for this ride,” he said, smiling. “One in Santa Clara closed before Dru and I made it out this way, and other one off in Illinois closed down last year.” He gazed out happily over the carnival. “Thought they’d been scrapped, but it seems they just went on the road.”

Buffy addressed herself to her melting ice cream, clearly suppressing another eyeroll. “Gosh, I’m so happy for you.”

“Bloody hell, Slayer, don’t you ever go to the cinema?” She looked at him blankly. “Wonderworld? Bloody Beverly Hills Cop III?”

She smiled at him indulgently. “I’m sure it was better than _Cats_ , and you wanted to see it again and again.”

Spike rolled his eyes right back. “Right then, Slayer. Eat your ice cream.”

“I think I shall,” she said primly, but she snuggled more comfortably into Spike’s side as she did so, and he tightened his arm around her, feeling bloody fantastic.

He felt even more fantastic a few minutes later, when Buffy took his hand and tucked it closer about her, sighing. “I do have to admit, this ride is nice and private.”

Spike nodded in agreement, pressing a light kiss to the top of her head.

“We could do almost anything in here, and no-one would ever know.”

“That we could, love.”

And then Buffy stopped being subtle and tugged his hand down to cover her breast.

She was still eating her ice cream, but Spike knew an order when he was given one, and he agreeably caressed her through her shirt, catching her pebbled nipple between his fingers, and then he brought his other hand over for her other breast – convenient, that, having two of each – and after a bit of that Buffy wriggled a little closer and Spike wrapped an arm around her waist and tugged her around until she was nestled between his legs, her perky arse snugged right up to his cock and her back tight against his front while he fondled and caressed her, and all the time she was methodically licking the drips off her ice cream, making little moans of pleasure and pulsing against him.

He was just about to slip his hands under her shirt to touch her warm, soft skin when she turned her head up to him, presenting the half-eaten ice cream cone.

“Want a taste?” she asked in a voice like Eve herself.

 

Does Spike want a taste?

Yes: [GO TO CHAPTER 32](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20979914)

No thanks: [GO TO CHAPTER 113](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982374)


	60. Chapter 60

Buffy stared at the _thing_ in her hand.  _Oh god, what the hell was I thinking?_ It looked almost like a corn dog, the fried batter drizzled with a layer of sugary glaze, but… well, either the thing involved a whole lot of batter, or they had literally just inserted a handle into an entire stick of butter and fried it up. She was almost afraid to find out which.

“Buffy!”

She turned to see the last person she had expected to ever see again in Sunnydale – Riley Finn, larger than life, striding across the midway as if the butter had summoned him.

Now, with Spike’s kisses still fresh on her lips, he was the last person she _wanted_ to see.

But he was smiling at her easily, that affable grin she had found so soothingly normal, and she couldn’t help but smile back, even as Spike growled beside her.

“Riley! What are you doing back here?”

He shrugged. “Heard through channels that there was something going down, thought maybe you might need me.”

Buffy looked at Riley for a long moment, not really sure what to say. She couldn’t look at him without remembering how she’d felt, how she’d cried, how she’d run after him to beg him to stay when she’d _needed him_ , back when everything was falling apart, and yeah, she remembered the love, but she also remembered emptiness, and tears, and most of all how when she’d _needed him_ he’d been running around getting his bite on, and then gone, because no matter how much she’d _needed him_ it hadn’t been enough.

“My mom died,” was what she finally said.

He blinked. “Oh, Buffy, I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah,” Buffy said shortly. “Me too.”

She could feel Spike quivering behind her, and what the hell, she was feeling a little pissy; she tucked her arm into Spike’s and tugged him forward.

“Spike and I are on a _date_ ,” she said firmly.

Riley’s eyes narrowed. “Are you?”

“That we are,” Spike chimed in smugly; Buffy elbowed him before he got too deep into the gloating.

There was so much Buffy could say, but as she looked at Riley, she just felt tired, like she’d walked a thousand miles since that day she’d run after him, and… she didn’t want to go back. Not to who she’d been back then, when she’d been desperate to prove that her love was enough. When she’d _needed him_ so much, and he hadn’t been there, even when he’d been right by her side.

She didn’t know where she was going from here, what she wanted or what she needed, but she knew… she knew she didn’t need Riley. Not anymore.

Riley was still looking at her with that cheerful, puppy-dog smile that she had once thought meant he was actually a pretty nice guy, but she was now starting to suspect was a mask. “Just don’t worry about it, Riley. We’ve got everything under control.” She smiled sweetly. “I don’t need you.”

His face shifted ominously for just a moment before sliding back into a smile. “All right, Buffy. I can see this isn’t a good time. I can come by the house later on and we can catch up on things. Sound good?”

It really didn’t, but if Riley couldn’t make the connection between _being on a date_ and _not wanting to talk to your ex_ , then that was his problem. “Whatever.” She glared at the deep-fried butter in her hand, winding up to toss it into the garbage.

Riley caught her arm. “Aren’t you going to eat that?”

Buffy looked at it again, just to make sure. “Nope. Definitely not.” She shook his hand off pointedly.

“Well don’t waste it. Here, give it to me, I’ll eat it. They use real Iowa butter in these, you know. All the best foods come from Iowa.”

“Knock yourself out,” Buffy sighed drily, handing over the heart-attack-on-a-stick. “Look, it’s sweet and all that you came back, but I have this whole carnival thing under control. Enjoy your trip back to the jungle.” She grabbed Spike by the elbow and dragged him back towards the concession stands.

***

Riley watched her go, frowning. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Buffy hadn’t been all that happy to see him. But he supposed he’d been right about her all along; she had some sick obsession with vampires, or she wouldn’t have sunk to dating Spike. It was a shame he was only here for the night, or he’d take her out for dinner, remind her what a man could be like before it was too late.

Ah, well. Her loss. He’d sure dodged a bullet, getting away from her. He started walking back to the carnival helipad. There was always that girl he’d rescued in the jungle; she seemed to appreciate him well enough.

He took a bite of the deep-fried butter, enjoying the crispy exterior and the soft, rich interior, and in his absorption in the nostalgic Iowa flavor, he missed his step and tripped, tumbling over a low fence and into a weird sunken moat. _Great._

He had just heaved himself up on the shore of the ridiculous waterway when he realized he was surrounded.

By lions.

He reached for the taser on his hip, aiming it at the lioness leading the pride, but it fizzled in his hand, fritzed out by the water.

“Buffy?” he whispered frantically, then risked a shout. “Buffy!”

*

The lions closed in, licking their chops. They had been fed plentifully, of course, but here was something fresh and buttery, with plenty of meat for the whole pride to share. And it looked to be a delicious feast indeed.

After all, all the best foods came from Iowa.

***

Buffy was still hungry, but it was really hard to make up her mind what she wanted to eat when there was so much noise behind her.

“God, what is up with the lions?” she groused, glaring back over her shoulder.

Spike shrugged. “Must be feeding time,” he muttered offhandedly. “Now, am I buying you a sweet, or not?”

“Oh, you’re buying, all right,” Buffy retorted. “For some reason I have a really bad taste in my mouth…”

 

What treat does Buffy want?

 

Deep-Fried Twinkie: [GO TO CHAPTER 130](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982749)

Ice Cream: [GO TO CHAPTER 20](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20979506)

Cream Puff: [GO TO CHAPTER 10](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20978924)


	61. Chapter 61

“Yeah, I’ll have that,” Spike growled, stepping closer to Buffy, but just as he was about to take the cone from her, she snatched it away, holding it off to the side, and god, what _was_ that look on her face? She looked terrified and anticipatory and playful, and something else, something that sent shivers all through Spike, and oh god, he had to kiss her.

“Please,” he begged, and she grinned impishly, setting a hand on his chest, and then the ice cream cone was back in his vision again as she curled her tongue around it, scooping up a slash of ice cream, and then she lifted her mouth to his, sliding her tongue and the sweet soft-serve into his mouth all together, and he groaned and kissed her, matching the slow sensual glide of her tongue even as he craved more.

After a bit, she broke free. “How does it taste?” she whispered, her lips brushing his.

“Brilliant,” he whispered back, catching another taste of her lips, but then the cone was there again in his vision, Buffy holding him back again.

“You can have the rest,” she said silkily.

“Don’t want the sodding ice cream,” he muttered, kissing her again, but then she laughed and pressed the cone into his hand, and he took it without thinking, and then her hands were on his chest, sending him stumbling back. Before he even regained his balance, she had leaned forward from the hips, her sweet arse still holding the door firmly shut, and then Spike lost his balance all over again because her shirt was off, tugged over her head and tossed aside, and then she was leaning back against the door, her face still hungry-playful-terrified, her breasts completely and utterly bare. Which – he’d known she wasn’t wearing a bra, he was basically always aware of the state of Buffy’s breasts, the way he was always aware of the sunrise and the weather and the seasons, but even with all the snogging they’d done this evening he’d not expected to actually have to deal with the lack of underthings, not in any concrete way, and so he just stared at them like the miracle they were.

God, they were perfect.

His silence seemed to unnerve Buffy, though; she laughed awkwardly, eyes darting around until they landed on her discarded shirt. “Sorry,” she said sheepishly. “I just thought…”

“Bloody hell, Buffy,” Spike managed then. “Are you trying to dust me?”

Buffy blinked then. “No, I… um. It was a stupid idea.” And god, the light was fading from her eyes, and she was looking at her shirt again, and Spike suddenly realized she thought he was _rejecting_ her, and that was just insupportable, so he stepped forward, angling his body so she couldn’t see her bloody clothing, and he brought the ice cream cone up between them. It was dripping now, and her eyes flew to it, and she swallowed visibly, and _god._

“Had an idea, did you?” He held the cone so the drips of melting ice cream started landing on Buffy’s chest, and her eyes fluttered closed.

“Yes,” she said softly.

“On the carousel?”

She nodded shakily.

He watched the rivulets of ice cream tricking down her breasts. “Had a few ideas of my own,” he said conversationally.

Buffy opened her eyes then, glaring at him. “My idea first,” she said impatiently, and seeing as Spike thought her idea was bloody brilliant, he stopped mucking about and got right down to it.

At the first stroke of his tongue along one of the trails of ice cream, Buffy gasped, one hand coming up to tangle in his hair, and Spike laughed or groaned, or… bloody hell, he didn’t know what noises were coming out of his mouth, he just knew the taste and feel of her under his tongue, warm skin beneath cool ice cream and her blood flowing just under the skin, life and death all in one, and he dribbled more sweet drips, sucking it off her, lips tracing every inch, and _bloody hell_ the ice cream wasn’t melting fast enough and he reared back and looked her in her wide, unfocused eyes and painted a swath of ice cream right across her nipple, bending to suck it into his mouth, and god, now _she_ was making noises, little whimpers and moans, and he heard every one, committing their sweet music to memory. He did the other breast, then fell to his knees, spreading ice cream across her belly and licking it off with long strokes of his tongue, reveling in the way she gasped at the cold and then sighed at his caresses, and then he heard the sound of a zipper and then her hands skimmed her skirt off her hips and he was looking at her polka-dotted underwear, or at least he was for about three seconds before she shoved those down as well.

He looked up at her and she looked down at him, and then he grinned.

“Why don’t you come down here, love?” he said gently.

She blinked. “I’m holding the door closed.”

“Don’t need to _stand_ to do that.” He curled his free hand around the back of her knee. “Think you’ll want to be seated for this part.”

Buffy took a deep breath, and sank down.

Spike wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her down further until she was on her elbows, her shoulders holding the door shut, shouldering her knees wide until she was arranged to his satisfaction; she watched him the whole time, panting and quivering, and when he finally raised what was left of the dripping ice cream cone, drizzling the sweet melting stickiness across her stomach and down to her delicious bare quim, she sighed.

“Please,” she whispered, and he gave her what she begged for, lapping the sweet drips off her quaking belly and down, down until he was there, his tongue lost in her wet heat, and bugger the ice cream, he tossed the dregs aside and took hold of her knees, and delved into the sweetest taste of all.

When she gasped and shook, the glorious taste of her ecstasy bursting on his tongue, he couldn’t help but laugh brokenly into her. “Bloody brilliant idea, pet,” he said, pressing a line of kisses along the inside of her thigh.

She laughed back, shakily stroking his hair. “I’m sure yours were good, too.”

“All good things in time,” he said magnanimously, and set his tongue to her again.

*

They might have stayed in the little utility shed for hours more, exploring all of Spike’s ideas – which might in turn inspire more epiphanies for Buffy, he reasoned – except that the bloody calico kitten decided it was done with being shut up and came to sit by Buffy’s shoulder, scratching at the door and meowing piteously. Its yowls were shortly matched by the kitten in the basket, and the cacophony rather destroyed the mood.

“We really should get all three,” Buffy said, voice gratifyingly slurred with satiation.

Spike was starting to think he didn’t care if his head _did_ get bitten off, not if the price was a few more minutes buried in Buffy, but the lady had spoken, and so he scooped up the kitten, popping it in the basket, and stood to fetch Buffy’s shirt. She hastily reassembled her clothing, grimacing at the stickiness.

“Do I look okay?” she said anxiously, tugging at her clothing.

Spike looked at her, a thousand words coming to mind, but none of them enough. “Yeah,” he finally said.

They headed off to the gate.

 

[GO TO CHAPTER 66](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981075)


	62. Chapter 62

The tent had a big “Closed” sign standing just outside, but the kitten had ignored it and Buffy did too, slipping around the sign and in through the tent flap, where she stopped in her tracks, because of all the things she had expected to see in this tent, a single old car sitting smack dab in the middle hadn’t even made the top one hundred.

Stepping into the tent behind her, Spike let out a low whistle. “Bloody hell, haven’t seen that since the sixties.”

Buffy folded her arms. “What? It’s just an old car.”

Spike glanced at her slyly, “Not just any car.” He sauntered over, running a hand over the top. “This here’s a 1928 Cadillac, custom fitted with body armor, bullet-proof glass…” He rapped a fist firmly against the glass. “This car belonged to Al Capone.”

“And you know this how?”

“Seen it before. Used to make the rounds of the sideshows, back in the day.”

“Huh.” Despite herself, Buffy was slightly intrigued.

“There’s bullet holes too,” Spike continued, walking around the car and peering in the window. “From a firefight.”

“Really?” Okay, that was actually interesting. “Where?”

“You have to get in the car to see them.” And Spike unlatched the door, holding it open with a sardonic bow.

Buffy sighed, but really, how likely was it that she’d ever have the chance to see the bullet holes in Al Capone’s car again? She slipped into the back seat, sliding across the leather upholstery. Spike climbed in after her, shutting the door and tucking his arm around her.

“So,” Buffy said, a little exasperated after looking around for a bit fruitlessly. “Where exactly are these bullet holes?”

Spike grinned. “There aren’t any. Just had a fancy to snog my woman in Al Capone’s bullet-proof Cadillac.” And he knuckled her chin up and kissed her, and she knew she should get after him for the lie, but if she were honest, smooching in Al Capone’s car was kind of a nifty thing, something not too many people could say they’d done, and well, yeah, maybe she was going easy on him because of the whole log ride most-erotic-experience-of-her-life thing, but seriously, who wouldn’t? So she returned his kiss, lying back on the seat in case anyone came into the tent, and when he broke away to nuzzle at her ear, she took hold of his hand and tucked it under her damp shirt.

“Check it out, Spike. Now you’re on second base in Al Capone’s bullet-proof Caddy.”

“That I am,” Spike laughed, and then he helped her get her shirt over her head, gazing down at her breasts with hot eyes before running a shockingly gentle hand all down her torso and up again. “God, you’re…” He didn’t finish, bending and pressing a reverent kiss to the very center of her chest, and then he dove right into second base, hands and lips desperate on her, Buffy clutching just as desperately at his head, and then he kissed a line right down her stomach, his hands fumbling under her skirt, and she helped him tug her panties down, because yeah, third base in Al Capone’s bulletproof Cadillac was even better than second base, except then he flipped her skirt up and set his mouth to her and oh. Oh. Was that technically third base? It felt a lot more basier – not a home run technically, home run was set in stone, but like maybe there were ten bases and this was number eleven and okay that was enough thinking for now, she sank back into the leather and enjoyed the feel of Spike’s cool tongue against her.

He relaxed when she did, eyes on her face as he licked and sucked at her, and it was weird, because Buffy had never imagined this, the surreally sweet intimacy of watching his tongue on her while he watched her watching him, and she reached down and brushed her knuckles against his cheekbone, feeling unaccountably tender.  He closed his eyes for the barest moment before cocking an eyebrow and doing something with his tongue that sent a sweet, sharp orgasm sighing right through her.

He pressed his forehead into her belly for a moment, lips moving against her in words she couldn’t hear, and then his mouth was on her again, except harder, hungrier, and she was panting now, but she couldn’t look away from his hot eyes, which were dancing with challenge, and somehow his hands found hers, or hers found his, and their fingers tangled together and they were linked hand to hand and eye to eye as he drove her right up to the edge again, and this time when she tumbled over, shaking with the force of it, she dragged him up until she could hold him to her breast, eyes staring up at the roof of the car as they quivered together.

Huh. There was a hole up there, after all. Probably not a bullethole, but she could always pretend.

Spike scooched up then, kissing her on the forehead and then hard on the mouth, before tugging them both around to sitting on the bench seat, his arm around her like they were at the drive-through. Except for the no-shirt thing, which… oh, all right, it was just like they were at the drive-through.

“So,” Buffy said breathlessly after a bit. “Feeling like the Godfather now?”

“What?” Spike said innocently. “Just had a fancy to bring my woman off in Al Capone’s bullet-proof Cadillac.” He gave her shoulders a little squeeze. “Twice. And technically, Al Capone wasn’t…”

Buffy shut him up with a kiss before he could get talking about movies again. Or maybe she just wanted to kiss him.

She was just starting to think a home run in Al Capone’s bullet-proof Cadillac was a really fantastic idea – or maybe there was a twelfth base they could explore – when there was a scrabbling of claws and a plaintive _meow!_ from the front seat; Spike leaned forward and snatched up the Siamese kitten from where it was scaling the driver’s seat back.

“Enough of that,” he said firmly. “Mustn’t leave claw marks in the leather of an antique.”

Buffy rolled her eyes, locating her shirt and pulling it over her head. “Says the man who just debauched said antique.”

He grinned at her as he opened the car door. “Can’t think of any better way to honor the history of this vehicle.” He stepped out and held the car door for her, kitten securely tucked in his other hand. “Except maybe fucking you over the hood,” he went on casually.

Buffy nearly fell out of the car. “Oh.” _Oh god_.

He eyed her, grinning. “Like that idea, do you?”

She did, she really did, but the kitten was squirming and meowing, and it reminded her that the Scoobies were supposed to be meeting them – they were probably already late – and they had another kitten to catch if Spike was going to not have his head bitten off, and…. _Dammit._

“Maybe I do,” she said finally, grinning in challenge. “You’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you?”

And she turned and walked out of the tent.

 

[GO TO CHAPTER 66](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981075)


	63. Chapter 63

“Love a taste,” Spike purred, and as Buffy held the cone up to his lips, he went for the warm skin after all, hands gliding under Buffy’s shirt and up to cover her bare breasts – no bra tonight! – and the cool ice cream and her warm skin and the way she gasped at the contact all came together in a perfect storm of perfection. Buffy’s head fell back against his shoulder, and he curled around to press a kiss to her forehead.

“Eat your ice cream, love,” he murmured, and she obeyed as if on autopilot, licking at the ice cream cone as she arched desperately into his hands, and Spike grinned into her shoulder, brushing sweet tender kisses along her deltoid as he reached one hand down further, furling her skirt up and up, and she let out a little _oh!_ of pleasure as he stroked her tenderly through her panties, which were already delectably damp.

She pulsed her hips against his hand, matching his rhythm as he stroked, her tongue taking little urgent licks of ice cream between moans, and then she reached down with her free hand and urged his fingers inside her panties, and god, she was butter-slick, her clit hard and throbbing against his fingertips. He stroked harder, delving his fingers inside her over and over, each time dragging them up through all her wetness to the tender nubbin at the top, and she gasped and writhed and licked her ice cream, and when he finally sent her over the edge of ecstasy, her teeth crunched into the nearly-empty cone as she stifled a cry.

He stroked her gently as she came down, kissing the top of her head as she absently crunched down the rest of her cone, and when it was all gone she turned her face up to his and kissed him deeply. She tasted of vanilla and sugar and cream, and he wondered dizzily what the rest of her tasted like, but then she kept turning and sank down and she had his trousers undone before he could find out, and then his cock was in her hot sticky mouth and he shelved the question of Buffy-flavor for another time, giving himself up to her completely.

And she took all of him, in every sense of the word, exploring every inch of his cock with her nimble tongue and nibbling delicately at his foreskin, her own urgency making her rougher than perhaps a human might have enjoyed but god, it was perfect for Spike, and then she sucked him deep into her mouth over and over again, so hot and wet and somehow frantic that he was soon desperate, begging her for more, swearing at each stroke of her tongue, until she finally laughed joyously around him, the vibrations delicious, and then she did something he couldn’t possibly explain, some prodigious mix of tongue and teeth and glorious suction, and he came so hard he nearly blacked out, and Buffy was still laughing when he came back to himself, wiping her face off with a napkin, and he pulled her up for another kiss, because he loved her, he loved her and if this was the only moment they ever had, he’d still treasure it until he was dust.

And then Buffy wiped her streaming eyes and settled in beside him, looking out over the carnival again, still giggling. “We’re coming in to land,” she said presently. “Better make ourselves decent.”

Spike much preferred being indecent, but he zipped himself away and, while he was thinking about it, snatched up the black kitten from where it was lounging on the far seat, studiously ignoring their shenanigans. He popped it in the basket with its fellow, ignoring its complaints.

Buffy gave him a quick hug then, just before the attendant came over and unlocked their carriage.

“Two down, one to go!”

 

[GO TO CHAPTER 133](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982806)


	64. Chapter 64

Spike followed Buffy behind the game, but as soon as they were out of sight of the few occupants of the arcade, he dropped the basket and gave her hand a tug and a twist, and Buffy found herself pinned up against the back of a machine, Spike’s hands on either side of her waist as he began to nibble on her ear.

“The kitten--” Buffy gasped

“Can wait,” Spike purred, pressing tender kisses down the line of her throat. “Tell me, pet. What was that all about back there?”

“What was what all about?”

 “Don’t play the dumb blonde now,” Spike muttered into her throat. “The way you ate that… god, are you trying to make me dust?”

Buffy bit her lip, sliding her hands cautiously up the planes of his chest. “If I were trying to make you dust, you’d know by the floating-on-the-wind thing.”

“So.” His eyes were on hers then, hard and wild. “This some game then?”

She grinned then, her breath coming hard and fast. “Well, we are in an arcade...”

“Bugger,” he muttered, then his lips were hard against hers, and she sucked his tongue deep because oh god how she had wanted this, his lips and his hands and his body cool against her, the game at her back quivering with electricity and the lights and sounds drowning out the noises she could feel coming from the back of her throat, hungry noises, little gasps and sighs and oh’s as his hands ran up and down her body.

When his lips finally left hers to nuzzle at her throat again, she bent down to kiss the crown of his head, because it was there, all crunchy with hair gel and begging to be kissed. He responded by hooking his hand under her knee and hiking her leg up to his waist. He pressed his forehead into her chest with a gusty sigh, and then his other hand was under her skirt tracing circles on her inner thigh.

“Watching you French-kiss that sodding cream-filled torture device shouldn’t make me hungry,” Spike growled into her chest. “Don’t rightly need to eat.”

“So I’ve been told,” Buffy murmured, clutching at his shoulders.

“But see, I’m not like other vampires,” Spike grinned, lifting his head to look at her again. “Don’t _need_ to eat, but that doesn’t mean I don’t _want_ to eat.” His fingers started drifting upwards, until they were right at the edge of her panties, painting mesmerizing trails on her sensitized skin.

“Should we get you your own Twinkie?” Buffy suggested breathlessly.

“Got a better idea,” Spike said darkly, and then instead of sliding his hand over to where she was dying to be stroked, like she’d anticipated, he fell to his knees, shoving her thigh up onto his shoulder, and ran his tongue hard over her panties and oh god she hadn’t known that was what she wanted but she wanted more and so did he because he licked and licked, pressing the fabric into her with his tongue, oh god that was his tongue and somehow her hands met his at the waistband of her panties and they were both shoving them down, down past her knees and then she didn’t care where they were anymore because his tongue was back, stroking and flicking, his palm flat against her thigh shoving it wide as he swore harshly into her, the vibrations of his lips sending her right over the edge. While she was quivering with aftershocks he stood up and watched her face, his hand in place of his tongue still tenderly stroking and stroking until she came again, nearly doubling over from the force of it, her head crashing into his chest.

“There,” he crooned, voice gravelly with satisfaction. “That was a nummy treat.” His lips lightly brushed the top of her head.

Buffy stared down at the ground, packed dirt and tangled electrical cords and her cute polka-dot panties dangling wantonly around one booted ankle – that being where they had apparently ended up – and wondered if she would ever be able to hear the _wocka-wocka-wocka_ sound of Pac-Man chomping on… whatever those things were supposed to be… without the memory of Spike’s mouth on her. God, maybe it would be like that dog with the bell, and she’d start drooling every time she heard it. Except, no, not _drooling_ per se…

Spike’s hand slipped out from under her skirt – which made her realize it had been cupped protectively over her crotch this whole time, because now she kind of missed it being there – and his other arm hooked around her back and pulled her in for a swift, hard hug, too fast for her to return it, and then he stepped back. It felt like a goodbye, and her hands automatically clutched at the hem of his shirt, before he could get away.

His eyes met hers, challenging and oddly vulnerable, and a dozen inane remarks tumbled through her head, ranging from _what the hell just happened?_ to _whenever I play Pac-Man I’ll remember this moment_ , but in the end she just smiled up at him and tilted her lips up to his, and that seemed to be the right thing to say, because he stayed.

*

Afterglow kisses against the back of an arcade game turned out to be so pleasantly surreal and dreamlike that Buffy might never have wanted to stop if a large group of loud teenagers hadn’t entered the tent, bringing her back to awareness of the semi-public location, and she reluctantly pushed Spike away.

“Spike, there’s people…”

“Don’t fancy an audience, do you?” He craned his neck to peer around the edge of the game. “Looks like they’re headed for that posh game at the other end. Doubt they’d notice.” He slid his hand under her skirt again. “Not if you keep mum.”

Buffy knew she should protest, but in all fairness she had abandoned “should” about a hundred kisses and a couple orgasms ago, so all she was able to manage was a vague groan as his fingers delved between her legs.

“God, you’re wet,” he muttered, nibbling tenderly at her collarbone. “I think having an audience makes you hotter.”

“Of… of course not!” Buffy gasped, trying very hard to sound shocked and disapproving.

“Doesn’t it?” Spike leaned in to her ear, curving his fingers in and up until they were pumping slowly inside her, his thumb pressing on her clit. He went on in a low, intense voice. “They’re right there, you know. They aren’t looking this way, but they could come over any second. All they’d have to do is step a little bit to the side, and they’ll see. They’ll know.” His free hand came up to tenderly cup her face. “God, you’re beautiful like this. So bloody gorgeous…”

Buffy watched his mouth like he was a hypnotist, biting her lip to stay quiet as she moved her hips along with his hand, harder and harder, and he was right, even as she was horrified at the thought of getting caught with her panties around her ankle, it was also blindingly erotic, his rich voice washing over her like molasses while she could hear people chattering just yards away.

“Oh, bugger!” Spike said suddenly, eyes jerking off to the side, and her orgasm hit her like a freight train.

When she could see again, he was grinning down at her. “Oh my god,” she spluttered. “Who saw us? Are they still there?”

“Knew that would do it for you,” Spike said smugly. “Near broke my fingers, though.”

Buffy narrowed her eyes. “You’re evil,” she growled.

“Evil is as evil does,” Spike agreed cheerfully.

Buffy couldn’t decide whether Spike needed to be punched in the nose for tricking her or given a medal for his service to Buffy’s Sex Life, but she was distracted from her internal debate by a tugging at her ankle. She glanced down and saw the calico kitten batting playfully at her dangling underpants. As she watched, its claws caught in the lace edging, trapping it.

Spike followed her gaze. “Nice work, Slayer! Never would’ve thought of using your lingerie as a cunning kitten trap.” He bent and scooped up the kitten, carefully disentangling it from the lace. As he tucked it into the basket with the Siamese kitten, closing the lid tightly, Buffy ruefully considered the snagged panties before pulling them back on, for lack of anything better to do with them.

Spike patted the lid of the basket with satisfaction. “Two down, one to go.”

 

[GO TO CHAPTER 66](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981075)


	65. Chapter 65

Buffy backed into the tiny alcove, twisting to get through the tiny space, and Spike squeezed in after her, and just kept coming, advancing on her until she was backed up against one of the video games; he planted his fisted hands against the particle board on either side of her waist.

“Are you trying to make me dust?” he bit out, nostrils flaring.

“Yep,” Buffy grinned up at him, daring. “I always wanted to set you on fire.”

Spike growled and kissed her, hard, one of his hands coming up to fist in her hair while his other yanked her hard against him – and ooh, he was ready again, even though it had hardly been any time since the log ride. _Must be a vampire perk,_ Buffy thought with satisfaction, planting her own hands on his ass.

With another growl, or maybe a moan, Spike shoved her hard against the game; it wobbled a bit, and Buffy laughed.

“Careful there, or you’ll give yourself a headache.”

Spike grinned. “Already been through this, love. If I’m not trying to hurt you, chip doesn’t fire, yeah?”

Buffy shrugged in a way that rubbed her breasts right up against him.

His eyes flared, and he shoved his body hard against hers again. “Right now, I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m giving you what you want.”

“Oh, really?” Buffy raised her eyebrows challengingly. “And what do I want?”

Spike leaned in close then, his lips brushing her ear as he spoke in a low, charged voice. “You want to be treated like the warrior goddess you are, worshipped with hand and mouth and heart until you are shaking with unholy ecstasy. I’ll worship you, Buffy. I’ll worship every inch of you, offer myself up as a sacrifice, let you crush me beneath your heel, burn me on your altar.” His hand was on her then, stroking her rough and hard through her panties and god, he was right, it was just what she’d wanted. “I’ll make you come so hard you speak in tongues. I’ll fuck you so hard you see the face of god. And when you’ve had your fill, I’ll offer up my breast for your knife.”

Buffy swallowed. “You mean stake.”

“Do I?” he murmured, and oh god, oh _god_ , she was obviously sick and twisted and going to hell, because she was going to die if she didn’t have him on her or in her or under her right this second, preferably all three, and she wrestled him down to the ground, kissing him desperately. He dug his fingers into her ass, jerking her astride him, and oh, that was good; she rubbed against him, and even through the layers of denim and cotton the hardness of his cock against her pussy was glorious; she planted her hands flat on his stomach for support, her eyes meeting Spike’s in wondering ecstasy as she ground into him, hard and rough, because gentle was so not what she needed right now, she needed friction and pressure and  - oh yes, _that_ , she needed that, his thumbs roughly abrading her clit through the fabric, and she came with a gasp, eyes widening.

He grinned wickedly up at her then, his hands on her thighs urging her up and forward while he scooted down, down, and then he was sucking on her clit through the fabric, licking at her from below, and all she could think was that she needed more, and she hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her panties and shoved them down as far as they could go, which wasn’t all that far with her legs spread wide but far enough he could hook them with his chin and then it was just his mouth right on her, his cool tongue flicking and stroking just right. One hand was on her hip, clutching hard, and the other came up between her legs, rubbing deliciously all the way to her entrance, and then his fingers were pumping inside her as she writhed against his tongue, and she arched back and offered herself up to him, shaking as he drove her up and up until she came again, but god she needed more, _more_ , but it wasn’t enough just to be worshipped, she needed to give, and so she tore herself away from his questing mouth, turning and twisting until she could reach his jeans.

He groaned and yanked her back astride his face, devouring her with even more intensity as she frantically yanked down his zipper, and oh she knew all sorts of things she could do to make this good for him, she’d read Cosmo, but all she could think right now was _mine_ and she took him right into her mouth, hard and deep, and from the way her swore into her, sucking desperately on her clit, that was just what he wanted anyhow. She pumped her head up and down, his hard cock slippery with her saliva, and Spike kept licking and nibbling and sucking on her, and oh god, she could feel it building again, she was frantic now, her hips and her mouth matching rhythm, faster and faster and then she came, sucking hard in her ecstasy, sucking harder as she began to come down, pumping and pumping until he groaned and came in her mouth, and she collapsed atop him, not caring how ridiculous their position was, because holy crap that had been amazing, carnal and divine.

Once she could breathe again, she wriggled around until she could snuggle into Spike’s chest.

“Good thing the arcade’s empty,” she whispered.

“Yeah,” Spike sighed, happily exhausted. “Though a fellow could hope for a more comfortable bed.”

Buffy had to agree; she had electrical cords sticking into her body in various unpleasant ways. “Later,” she said softly. “We’ll find someplace comfy.”

Spike didn’t answer for a long time, looking dazedly up at the tent roof, and finally her gave her a tight little hug. “Yeah,” he said at last. “Later.”

And then some voices passed by the tent and the spell was broken.

*

They hastily reassembled their clothing – which actually wasn’t much work – and Buffy was just starting to look around for the kitten again when Spike laughed, pointing at his basket.

The calico kitten was curled up on the lid, fast asleep.

“That saves some trouble,” Spike grinned, scooping the sleepy kitten up and tucking her inside. He cast Buffy a sidelong glance. “More energy for other things.”

She grinned right back, because darned if she wasn’t feeling pretty darn energetic at the moment. “That’s right Spike. Save your energy for later.”

And they headed back towards the rendezvous point.

 

[GO TO CHAPTER 133](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982806)

 


	66. Chapter 66

Buffy looked around at the assembled Scoobies.

_Holy crap, did a tornado go through here and I missed it?_

Willow and Tara were disheveled, holding hands in a snuggly way that usually meant they’d been making out in the back room of the Magic Box – which probably meant they’d been making out in the carnival’s equivalent of a back room. Xander’s shirt was buttoned crookedly, and he was staring off into space with that goofy grin that signified having gotten The Sex, a conclusion confirmed by Anya’s preternatural neatness – Buffy was convinced Anya had a super-dimensional bag so she could carry her full arsenal of beauty supplies, she always looked so put-together. Giles was… Well, Giles was actually wandering around several yards away, but whatever, he wasn’t actually doing anything useful anyhow, and he too looked a little the worse for wear.

Of course, Spike also looked like he’d been… doing what they’d been doing… and it was pretty likely Buffy herself was a poster girl for Post-Sexytimes Couture, but she held her head high, because the right attitude could make any fashion disaster look intentional. Even sticky, damp, and rumpled.

Buffy was not surprised to find that she and Spike were the only ones who’d garnered a kitten.

“Sorry,” Willow muttered sheepishly. “We didn’t even see the other one.”

“Though what we did see was really interesting,” Tara said, casting a sly grin at Willow, who blushed and glanced quickly between Spike and Buffy.

Anya smiled brightly. “We figured you had the kitten situation under control and did date stuff instead. We were going to try the Tilt-a-Whirl, but when I saw it, it didn’t look fun at all, just like a lot of being thrown around over and over again, all jerky and repetitive. If I’m going to get thrown around and subjected to something jerky and repetitive, I’d rather just have sex, which is jerky and repetitive with orgasms. So we found a nice private utility closet. I’ve been doing yoga, so I wanted to show off to Xander just how flexible—“

“Thank you, Anya,” Buffy cut in. “I think it would be best for all of us if we kept the play-by-play of our carnival sexcapades to ourselves.”

Spike snorted behind her.

Anya sighed. “Well, then, we have nothing to report.”

“Anyone else?”

“Nothing reportable here,” Willow said, smiling crookedly. “Just, um, carnival… stuff.”

“What about you, Buffy? Spike?” Tara said, looking way too innocent. “Is anything you did reportable?”

“No,” Buffy said, keeping her head high. “Nothing… nothing reportable. Except the kitten. We caught a kitten.”

“See?” Anya elbowed Xander. “I told you everyone else was having sex too.”

“Okay then!” Buffy said, possibly a little too loudly. “One more kitten to go. Everyone split up, and we’ll meet back here in… an hour.”

“Not half an hour?” Willow asked.

“No,” Buffy said slowly, glancing sidelong at Spike. “I definitely want an hour.”

*

Once all the Scoobies had gone their separate ways, Spike sauntered up to Buffy, catching the hem of her shirt.

“An hour, eh?”

She raised her eyebrows. “I didn’t think half an hour was long enough.”

“Long enough for what, pray tell?” He cast a glance up at her that managed to be both wicked and vulnerable at the same time. How did he do that?

Buffy took a deep breath and looked him square in the eye. “Long enough to catch that stupid kitten, and then find someplace private.” She smiled slowly. “After all, you heard Anya. Everyone’s having sex.”

Spike laughed, short and incredulous, face soft and open for the barest moment before it shifted into naughty confidence.

“Should’ve made it two hours, love,” he remarked casually. “Or maybe five.”

“One will do for now,” Buffy shot back. “We still need to see if you’ll make it worth my while.” Which, okay, they both knew was an empty threat, because _damn_ , but Buffy was kind of thinking a bed might be nice for some of those promised hours. Especially since she conveniently owned one, along with a currently-empty house. It seemed silly not to take advantage of it.

Spike shrugged as if it made no difference to him. “All right then. Fancy another treat?”

She rolled her eyes. “What, again?” Though now that he mentioned it, she was feeling kinda grazey…

“Now, Slayer,” Spike said cajolingly. “You can’t tell me you’re not hungry after all that… activity. Chasing kittens. Licking—“

“Okay, Spike. Buy me a treat. Just… stop talking.” His voice was driving her demented, the kind of demented that led to Extreme Public Displays of Affection.

 “Got better uses for my tongue any road,” he said easily.

“As do I,” Buffy said, because damned if she was going to be the only one off-balance here. She regarded the array of carnival food before her, pondering….

 

What treat does Buffy choose?

Deep-Fried Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough [GO TO CHAPTER 67](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981108)

Snow Cones [GO TO CHAPTER 92](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981900)

Cotton Candy [GO TO CHAPTER 116](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982422)


	67. Chapter 67

Buffy accepted the little paper carton of deep-fried cookie dough balls with a little mental apology to those green leather pants that she might not fit into ever again, but oh they looked good, golden brown and crispy, the faintest dusting of powdered sugar along the tops.

 _I’ll just have to work off the calories somehow,_ she thought with a shrug, glancing over at Spike, who had claimed a picnic table for them after paying for the cookies, lounging with his elbows up and scanning their surroundings for kitten sign.

He could be her workout buddy.

Buffy put a little extra swing in her hips as she strolled up to him, plucking out one of the balls of batter-wrapped cookie dough, holding it out for him. He lifted an eyebrow and opened his mouth, and she popped it in.

He bit off half, taking the rest in his hand and looking at it curiously, while Buffy settled down next to him, taking a bite of her first one, crisp flaky outside and sinfully gooey cookie inside, and then Spike dropped his arm around her shoulders, and oh, talk about gooey and sinful insides, she felt like she was melting, like saying right out loud that she wanted to have sex with Spike had just opened the floodgates and now she was awash with hunger and anticipation, just the feel of his hand on her shoulder making her quiver.

“See any sign of the kitten?” she asked casually, scooching in a little closer.

Spike popped the rest of his cookie in his mouth, licking off his fingers sharply. “Not a hair. Though I’m thinking that shed behind the Zipper seems a likely spot.”

“For the kitten to hide?”

Spike’s fingers tightened fractionally. “For privacy.”

Buffy rolled her eyes, eating another gooey deep-fried cookie. “You do realize that if we get this kitten thing squared away, we then have the rest of the night off. We can do whatever we want, for as long as we want.” She frowned at her next cookie. Wasn’t there something else she was supposed to do tonight?

Spike was looking down at her, bemused. “Whatever we want?”

She looked up at him through her lashes, licking a bit of melted chocolate off her lips.

“Right, then!” He clapped her on the shoulder, rolling to his feet. “Let’s find that kitten!”

But they only made it a few steps before their path was blocked by a man stepping in front of them. Buffy was opening her mouth to complain about the rudeness when she realized who it was.

“Angel?”

He wasn’t even looking at her, just glaring at Spike with poisonous eyes. “Spike,” he growled. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Spike shifted, puffing his chest out belligerently. “On a date,” he growled right back.

Then Angel looked at Buffy, incredulous. “He’s not talking about _you_ , is he?”

Buffy set her jaw, hurt and annoyed by the condemnation in his voice. “Yes. I am on a date with Spike. What are _you_ doing here?” The cookies she’d eaten were roiling in her stomach now. They might have broken up a long time ago, but… there was still _something_ there between them even now, respect and affection at least, and his clear judginess had wiped away the joy of just a minute before.

“I heard there was an evil carnival in town, thought you might need me.” He glanced over at Spike again, brow furrowed. “Look, I heard Spike’s been helping you out lately, but you can’t…”

Buffy cut him off, sudden fury welling up inside her. “Angel, if you want to do something about the carnival, we can always use another fighter. But if you’re here to pass judgment on my personal life, then just turn around and go back to LA. You have exactly zero say in who I date.”

Angel folded his arms stubbornly. “I’m not going to just stand by while you throw your life away on scum like… Where are you going?”

Buffy stopped in her tracks, letting go of Spike’s hand. “You want the evil carnival? Fine. You can have it. Spike and I are leaving.” She threw one of her deep-fried cookie dough bites as hard as she could, grinning victoriously when it splatted right into Angel’s chest, and then dragged Spike off towards the entrance again, jerking him off balance when he drew breath to add his own, likely-obnoxious parting shot.

Once they were out in the parking lot, Buffy stopped stock-still, breath heaving with rage.

Spike stepped up into her field of vision. “So, Slayer, what--”

“Do you have a car?” Buffy interrupted.

He grinned. “Just down the road.”

“Good. Take me home. My schedule for the evening is suddenly wide open.” She glared at him. “We are going to have _so much sex_ that neither of us will be able to walk for a week.”

Spike blinked. “All right, then. Car’s this way.”

They ran down the road, leaving the carnival behind forever.

THE END

 

Would you like to try again? [Go to Chapter 1!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20978552)

[Read the Author’s Notes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20983016)


	68. Chapter 68

Buffy darted laughing to the right, hearing Spike behind her – but barely; for a man in combat boots he could move silently when he wanted to, and it seemed like he wanted to now, the faint swish of his leather coat the only sound she could detect. Even that was dissipated and confused by the maze of mirrors, so she honestly could not tell where he was.

Left, then right, left, left, then right again and she was out of the Hall of Mirrors, staring at a… chandelier? She would swear it was a chandelier, except instead of hanging down from the ceiling, it was sticking up from the floor, crystal drops wired to go straight up, fake-candle lightbulbs flickering.

“Fancy that,” Spike’s voice came from behind her. “You found a bed.”

Buffy looked up and, sure enough, there on the ceiling was a four-poster bed, comforter somehow dangling towards the ceiling, along with a table and chairs, a vanity with crystal perfume bottles, and even a fireplace, bits of red silk blown downwards by a fan and lit so they seemed like flames.

Buffy looked back at Spike dubiously. “I may have superpowers, but I think that might not work.”

He wrapped his arms around her firmly. “But it _is_ a bedroom. Candles… firelight…” He nibbled suggestively at her shoulder. “Ever been fucked on the ceiling?”

Buffy shivered at the low wickedness of his voice, still half out of breath from running. “No,” she said in a low voice. “Have you?”

He sighed into the nape of her neck. “No.”

“So it’s new for us both,” Buffy whispered, turning in his arms, and he buried his face in her throat, hugging her tightly as they both sank to the ceiling.

They knelt beside the chandelier, kissing lightly as they undressed each other, piece by piece, until they were naked in the flickering almost-candlelight. Spike glanced up at the bedroom above, eyes thoughtful.

“Had a room like this, once,” he said softly. “When I was human.”

Buffy slung her arms around his neck. “Really? I thought you were a bad, mad, dangerous-to-know rebel terrorizing the streets of London.”

He laughed shortly. “May have exaggerated a few things there,” he admitted. “Was trying to impress you.” He looked up again. “Never had a woman in my bedroom when I was alive.”

“And now you do. It’s a turvy-topsy world,” Buffy teased, tugging him downwards. “Later on you’ll have to tell me more about these… exaggerations about your past.” She curved a hand around his cock. “In the meantime, let’s get back to the present.”

He groaned and lay down with her, tenderly stroking her, kissing her face and her throat and her hands, building her anticipation up until he finally eased on top of her, pressing her thighs wide with the palms of his hands as he thrust into her, brushing a kiss across her lips as he began to move.

It was surreal and sweet, this slow lovemaking beside an upside-down chandelier, gazing up at the furniture on the ceiling; she kissed him over and over, hands running up and down his back, thighs wrapping around him to urge him on, but when he seemed content to keep up the slow burn forever, she scraped her nails across his back, lightly, and clenched around him.

“Thought you were going to _fuck_ me,” she said sweetly.

He laughed brokenly into her shoulder, and when he lifted his head his eyes were blazing, and he abandoned his slow pace, pulling back until he was kneeling, her ass on his lap and her shoulder blades on the ceiling-floor, and he took her hips in his hands, pulling her hard to meet each thrust, and oh god yes, this is what she’d wanted; she clutched at his knees and his hands, and then just arched back and felt, her own fingers stroking her lips as he pumped into her, and she came hard, one arm lashing out at the chandelier, sending some bits of crystal tinkling away, and he grinned and watched her shudder, thrusting lazily until she came down, and then he lifted an eyebrow and did something wicked on her clit with his thumb as he thrust hard again, and god, that sent her right over again, sharp and sweet, and then he pumped faster and faster as she relaxed bonelessly, the wet sound of their coupling like music, and then he threw his head back sharply, his whole body tensing as he pulsed inside her, and then he was staring down at her like she was all painted blue. Or – she giggled a bit, feeling remarkably mellow – like she was dancing on the ceiling.

“C’mere,” she whispered, tugging him down and pillowing his head on her breast, and they cuddled in the candlelit aftermath for a long time.

Finally, he propped himself up on his elbow, running a gentle hand down the length of her naked body, over and over. “I love you,” he finally said, watching his hand move.

“I know,” Buffy whispered back, arching beneath his touch.

“Could you—“ He cut himself off with a shake of his head. “Never mind.”

Buffy pulled him down for a tender kiss, thinking to herself, _Maybe_.

_Maybe I could._

*

A bit later they were startled out of their snuggles by the sound of something tinkling, and they looked over to see the calico kitten playing with one of the loose pieces of crystal. With a final sweet kiss, Spike rolled to his feet and strode over, catching the kitten by the scruff of the neck.

“That makes three,” he said with satisfaction.

Buffy sat up, wrapping her hands around her knees as Spike tucked the kitten into his basket with the others. “Does that mean we have to get dressed?”

Spike shrugged. “Hadn’t been an hour yet,” he noted. “We have plenty of time.”

“Good.” Buffy lay back on the floor-ceiling, crooking her finger. “Get your sexy behind over here.”

He did.

 

[GO TO CHAPTER 94](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981942)


	69. Chapter 69

Buffy considered it for a moment, but then shook her head. “We already know there’s dimensional portals all over this stupid carnival. Probably best not to risk it.”

“All right then,” Spike said easily, then lifted her up to sit on the hood of the VW, leaning forward until his body was pressed all along hers. “This works just as well.”

“Oh, but I’m still eating my cotton candy,” Buffy teased. “You have to wait.” She plucked off a feathery tidbit and caught it on her tongue.

He kissed her hard, before the sugar had finished dissolving. “And what am I supposed to do in the meantime? Tat a precious lace doily?”

Buffy took a deep breath, hesitating, but – oh, who was she kidding? She already knew exactly what was going to happen here in this secluded tent, they’d been headed towards this moment all evening, and so she smiled, reckless and trembling and joyful, biting her lower lip.

“I bet if you looked around, you could find something to eat.” She gave her hips a little twitch against him, just in case that was too subtle for him.

He laughed then, disbelieving, but a moment later his hands were under her skirt, tugging at the waistband of her poor beleaguered panties, and she planted her feet on the car bumper and lifted her hips to help as he yanked them down to her ankles and off past her boots, tossing them behind him, and then his head was between her legs, his tongue urgent against her, and she lay back against the windshield and closed her eyes, nipping tiny bites of cotton candy as Spike devoured her, the tart sugar like punctuation to the poetry his mouth was writing into her. With the surreal situation and the evening’s long campaign of foreplay and oh god Spike’s mouth – whatever he was doing it was making starbursts explode behind her eyelids – it seemed like it was hardly any time at all before she came against his tongue, sighing as she shook with pleasure.

He surged to his feet then, hands curving around to grab her ass. “Done with my appetizer, love,” he said raggedly. “Ready for the main course.”

God, she was ready too, she wanted him desperately, but she couldn’t resist teasing him more. “I’m still working on mine,” she pouted, taking another miniscule nibble.

Spike glared at her. “You’re too bloody slow,” he growled. “Here, let me help.” And he took the cotton candy from her and started to feed it to her, piece by piece.

He wasn’t actually moving much faster than she had been, apparently fascinated by her mouth as she ate, and after a few bites Buffy had to admit that the time for teasing was over; she set her hands to his belt buckle, unfastening it roughly and popping the button on his jeans. Spike hissed some British swear word as she unfastened his zipper, taking his cock in her hand, shoving his jeans off just enough that he was free, and then she shifted and he thrust and he was deep inside her at last. They both stopped still for a long moment, staring at each other in stunned awe, before they finally began to rock in harmony.

He kept feeding her the cotton candy as he slowly pumped in and out of her, little tiny nibbles of melting sugar, so sweet and innocent in contrast to the carnal feel of him inside her; she sucked the sticky candy off his fingers, running her tongue around them, and the whole while his eyes were locked on hers, naked and intense, and Buffy couldn’t look away, she was sucked in, and oh, she’d been right to be wary of this carnival, because she _was_ in another dimension now, a dimension that held only the look in Spike’s eyes and the feel of his body and the adoration unmistakable in both

Then the cotton candy was gone, and his mouth was sweet on hers, his sticky hands clutching her bare ass as he fucked her harder, the car bouncing and groaning beneath them, nothing innocent left between them, just pure hunger and desire. She met his every thrust, feeling another orgasm building, and when his sugar-sticky thumb slid around between them, pressing inexorably on her clit, she convulsed around him, feeling deliciously full.

She lay back then, floating in fluffy pink afterglow, lazily stroking Spike’s back as he worked towards his own pleasure. She felt relaxed and open and light, tangled up in him like cobwebs, and when he spasmed inside her, arching his back and swearing yet again, she wound her sticky fingers in his hair and cradled him against her breast, sated and complete.

He pressed tender kisses here and there, randomly – the base of her throat, the curve of her shoulder, the corner of her jaw – and she felt so cherished that she wasn’t surprised at all when he nuzzled into her hair and whispered, “God, I love you.”

“I know,” she said softly, holding him close, and he shuddered like he was about to weep, clutching at her back.

*

For the first few minutes of cuddling, Buffy felt like she could stay there draped bonelessly across the hood of the little Volkswagon forever, but when she started to come down from the euphoria of having her mind blown, she noticed that the car’s windshield wipers were poking painfully into the small of her back, and once she’d noticed she couldn’t _un-_ notice, so finally she nudged Spike to his feet and started reassembling her clothing. Which actually didn’t take much work, seeing as the only thing that had actually been removed were her panties. She retrieved them from where they had landed – dangling off a rack of various-sized horns and noisemakers – and wriggled back into them, trying not to wrinkle her nose. Those poor polka-dot panties had really been through a lot tonight.

Spike had gotten all zipped away as well – though he was still gorgeously mussed – and was poking around the corners of the storage tent, finally diving behind a wig rack and coming out with the black kitten, which meowed and wriggled petulantly.

“That’s three,” he said, voice dripping with satisfaction that Buffy was very certain had very little to do with the kitten-capture, because he sounded just like she felt.

Replete and exhausted, but already looking forward to more. 

 

[GO TO CHAPTER 94](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981942)

 


	70. Chapter 70

Buffy turned her head up to Spike’s, kissing him lazily as she turned in his embrace. The cotton of his shirt was rough against her nipples, belt buckle cold and hard against her belly, and below that, his cock straining against denim was gratifyingly hard. She slid against him urgently, the textures of his clothing against her nakedness making her feel wild and shameless.

He planted his hands on her ass. “We finished here, Slayer?” He lifted his eyebrows suggestively.

Buffy grinned up at him and planted her hands on _his_ ass in turn. “Hell, no!” she said firmly. “I’m just getting started.”

He smiled and leaned in to press sweet, soft kisses along her shoulder, which was nice and all, but not at all what Buffy had in mind; she planted her hands flat on his chest and gave him a good shove.

He staggered back, eyes narrowing. “What the bloody…”

Buffy stomped forward, grabbing the lapels of his duster and yanking him down to where she could sink her teeth into his earlobe. “I am not a delicate flower,” she growled into his ear, then tossed her head back to meet his blazing eyes. “I’m not going to break.” She slammed one fist into a nearby mirror, sending a spider web of cracks out from the point of impact.

“Like it rough, do you?” Spike glared down at her, nostrils flaring, teeth bared in a ferocious grin.

Buffy glared back at him for a long moment, breathing heavily, because she could tell this was a turning point, that the decision she made now was going to ripple down through her like a boulder thrown in a lake, but she’d come this far, and she wasn’t going to back down.

So she lifted her chin and bared her teeth right back, and said, “Yeah. I do like it rough.” And she dug her hands into his hair and kissed him with everything in her, sucking his tongue deep into her mouth.

When she finally released him he laughed harshly against her lips, and then his hands were on her, one grabbing her ass while the other delved between her legs, plying her with hard rough strokes, and oh god she’d never been touched quite like that, it was exhilarating and exciting and she came hard against his rough fingers, sinking her teeth into the leather of his sleeve. He swore then, wildly kissing the top of her head, and then he was on his knees, his tongue replacing his fingers, long hard strokes and then oh _god_ his teeth and her legs gave out when she came again, sending her tumbling to the floor. He rose up on his knees, glaring down at her as he shucked his duster, then bent to her again, scooping his arms under her thighs and devouring her.

Buffy vaguely thought she should be embarrassed at the sounds coming out of her throat, guttural grunts and inarticulate gasps and hissed imprecations, but she _so_ didn’t care, because she could feel another orgasm building, sharp and inevitable, and how the hell was this even possible, that she had lost count? But she had, and there it went, and she laughed – or was it a scream – as Spike reared up over her, grinning like a madman.

She punched at him – an easy punch he could dodge – and when he ducked to the side she caught his shirt and yanked at it, wrestling it over his head, because she was done with being the only naked one, and then she lunged, wrestling him down to the ground and kissing him as she worked on his jeans, yanking his boots off with them, and when he was finally naked she took his hard cock right into her mouth, sucking hard.

He dug his hands into her hair, saying some British jibber-jabber that was probably swear words, and she laughed around him and sucked harder, giving him slightly more than a hint of teeth and fingernails as she pumped him in and out of her mouth, because she _liked it rough_ and so did he, and she slipped one hand down to stroke herself hard while she pleasured him, until he sat up halfway and caught at her waist, urging her to turn.

“Allow me, pet,” he growled, and wrestled her around so she was straddling his face, and she sucked his cock deep into her mouth again as he licked at her and oh god _again_ and there were tears in her eyes as she thrust her hips to meet his tongue because she had never imagined this, it was too much, but god it wasn’t enough, she needed more.

When she came yet again, her cry of completion muffled by his cock in her mouth, Spike shoved roughly at her hips, pushing her down his legs until he could wrap his arm around her waist, wrestling her to toss her face down on his duster, and he yanked her hips up so she was on her knees and then his knees were between hers and his hands clutching hard at her breasts and she tilted her hips to meet him as he thrust his cock into her, deep and hard, the force shoving her face into the leather.

She hooked one arm around to pillow her forehead on, tilting her hips back to meet each thrust, focusing every ounce of her attention on the feel of him inside her, the painful grip of his fingers on her hips. She clenched around him experimentally and he muttered something unintelligible, then took her free hand in his and urged it down between her legs until both their hands were there, fingers mingled urgently over her clit as he filled her deliciously over and over.

And ah, there it was again, blinding pleasure spiking through her, and Spike laughed, scooping his arms under her shoulders and yanking her back until he was kneeling and she was splayed wide over his thighs as he thrust into her. In the mirror, she only saw herself, writhing and gasping and touching herself, repeated over and over, surreal and carnal.

“There you are, Slayer,” Spike snarled into her ear as he thrust up into her. “A bloody gorgeous woman getting bloody well fucked.”

Buffy tossed her head back against his shoulder. “Oh, like you’re in charge here,” she gasped, matching his rhythm with hard jerks of her hips.

Spike laughed at that, and lost his rhythm, pumping frantically, and Buffy grinned and bore down on him, feeling him pulse inside her as he came.

He kept on thrusting, little jerks of aftershocks, and then slid his hands around her thighs while he was softening inside her. “Give us one more for the road, love,” he said softly, and stroked her tenderly until she came one last time, achingly sweet, like the final chord of a symphony, and then they collapsed onto his duster, Spike tugging her up to pillow her head on his chest.

“I knew,” Spike said suddenly, arms tightening around her shoulders. “I knew you’d be like this.”

“Because I’m the slayer?” Buffy said softly, exhausted and bruised and a little bereft.

“Because you’re Buffy,” he whispered, kissing her on the forehead. “God, I love you.”

Buffy didn’t have an answer to that, but she could sort of tell he didn’t expect one, that he’d just needed to say it, and so she gave him the best answer she could, tilting her head up to kiss him tenderly before curling in for more cuddles, all the sweeter following an experience that had been… well, only one word came to Buffy’s mind to describe it all.

Apocalyptic.

*

Wonderful as the cuddling was, it was hard to get around the fact that they could not spend the rest of their lives naked in the Hall of Mirrors, so eventually they disentangled themselves from each other, gathering the scattered pieces of their clothes. It was weirdly mundane, and decidedly surreal – watching Spike pick up an article of clothing in reality, and watching the clothing disappear in the mirror at the same time.

“How does that work?” Buffy asked, after watching Spike’s shirt vanish into thin air.

“What?”

“The clothes. They have a reflection… and then they don’t.”

Spike shrugged, tugging the shirt over his head. “Dunno. It just does.” He sauntered over to her and slipped his arms around her waist, kissing her shoulder. “Cameras work too, and I hear tell they involve mirrors of some kind. My considered opinion is that it’s not the mirror, it’s something about the human brain looking at the mirror.”

Buffy frowned thoughtfully. “So maybe, like, cats can see vampires in mirrors?”

Spike grinned into her shoulder. “Maybe. But here’s something that’s certain.” He released her and took three swift strides, reaching behind a corner. “ _Vampires_ can see _cats_ in mirrors.” And he scooped up the calico kitten. It mewed sleepily.

“And kitten makes three,” Spike said with satisfaction.

 

[GO TO CHAPTER 94](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981942)


	71. Chapter 71

Buffy snatched the word “normal” out of the air. It dissolved in her hand and she glared up at the demon defiantly.

The demon’s eyes glowed and its arms writhed in a hypnotic dance, tendrils of glowing green energy winding out from dozens of fingertips, ghosting around Buffy and Spike and the Scoobies. Buffy could feel darkness washing over her, no matter how she fought it, and she sank down and down and down…

And she was standing in her kitchen, washing dishes after breakfast – buckwheat pancakes and eggs and bacon, all slathered with butter and covered in syrup, just the way her honey liked it.

He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “I love you,” he said in that rich mellow voice she loved so much.

“I love you too, George,” she sighed. “But shouldn’t you be off to work?”

He headed for the door with their two perfectly normal kids, stepping out into the sunlight with a gusty sigh, and she went to the kitchen door to wave him on his way.

She went through her normal daily routine, wiping down the kitchen and vacuuming the living room – just the center, she couldn’t do behind the sofa unless George was there to move it for her – and then putting in a load of laundry, drinking a refreshing cup of herbal tea from a pristine china saucer, and she stood suddenly and flung her china cup across the room. It shattered on the wall, pale liquid dripping down the pretty floral wallpaper.

“This is not my life!” she shouted. “George Clooney is not my husband and I don’t have children and I don’t even _like_ chamomile!

Laughter echoed around her, a ghostly demon voice echoing from the perfect walls.

_THIS WAS YOUR CHOICE!_

“Yeah? Well this is the stupidest alternate universe _ever!_ And by the way…” She turned and punched at the air, feeling her fist connect with something solid and meaty. “I found you, you bastard.”

The sweet domestic scene swirled and vanished, leaving Buffy back at the entrance to the carnival; the glowy green demon had fallen to its knees before her, and she didn’t hesitate, striking it in the head with a powerful spin-kick and following up with the neck twist she’d perfected over years of saying, feeling its spine snap. She threw it to the ground, watching its death throes, its myriad arms thrashing and twitching and finally falling still.

She dusted her hands off. “Well, that takes care of that.

Buffy turned back to Ethan Rayne, who had stopped trying to look suave and was just furious.

“So,” she said brightly. “Got any more trinkets I need to destroy?”

Ethan laughed nastily. “The Cho’a Demon’s effects aren’t eliminated so easily. They will continue to suck you in, making you loop through the fair over and over until the energies dissipate. Who knows how many times you’ll be forced to face my brilliant creation?”

Buffy shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll beat it every time. And that also means I’ll get to punch you in the jaw over and over. I have a sneaking suspicion that, even though _we’ve_ been forgetting all the time loops, _you_ , as the wizard who cast the spell, will get to remember every single one. Am I right?”

The look in Ethan’s eyes was all the answer she needed. God, she hoped the next time through she went for the groin.

She turned to Giles. “Got any ideas what to do with him?”

“I believe I could make a few phone calls, when I am once again able to read the numbers on a telephone. There are groups that could ensure he is properly… restrained.” He shrugged. “Failing that, I’m quite willing to give him a good thrashing myself.” He muttered something under his breath about knowing the weaknesses of the Cho’a demon very well indeed, if only anyone had ever bothered to describe the bloody thing.

“Sounds like a plan.” Buffy lugged Ethan off to Giles’s convertible.

“Buffy, I suspect the trunk is too small for a man of Ethan’s…” Giles trailed off as Buffy folded Ethan into the tiny trunk and shut it decisively. “Well. I suppose it’s not a very long trip.” He took his glasses off, squinting at them ruefully. “Xander, perhaps you should drive.”

Xander nodded, licking the last bits of cherry pie filling off his fingers.

“Oooh! Shotgun!” Anya’s hand shot up.

Giles glared in her general direction. “I will not squeeze into the back seat of my own vehicle like a bloody sardine.”

Anya’s face fell. “Four people in the back seat isn’t any fun if Xander’s not there. Even if he does take up half the space.”

Buffy sighed. “It won’t be four people. I’ll walk back to town.”

“Buffy, are you sure?” Tara asked with a worried frown. “We don’t mind being a little smooshed.”

“Nah, it’s good.” Buffy smiled, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s no more than I usually walk on patrol. You all go ahead and I’ll catch up. Just save some of the pummeling for me, ‘kay?” Because really, why wait until the next time around to go for the groin?

Buffy waved cheerily as the Scoobies piled into the convertible, the basket of kittens settled securely onto Willow’s lap, and drove off down the road.

That weird kid, the one Spike had crashed into earlier in the evening, gathered up his broken device, and approached her warily. “Buffy Summers?”

Now that she had a good look at him, he seemed familiar. “Do I know you?”

“I’m Andrew. From Sunnydale High?” Her confusion must have shown on her face, because he flushed. “Tucker’s brother.”

“Oh.” That… was not a recommendation. She waited patiently for him to say something else. Then, when he remained silent, impatiently.

Finally, he looked away. “Yeah. So… Thanks for beating up that guy. He cracked my Very Smart Phone. That was so not cool”

“Your phone is smart?” Buffy looked at the little palm-sized device, confused.

“But I checked and it still works, so… thanks.”

“You’re welcome?” Maybe he wasn’t all bad. At least he was polite.

Another vaguely-familiar guy came up and clapped him on the shoulder. “So. Wanna go play some video games?” Buffy noticed Jonathan, of all people, hovering on the fringes; he gave her a little wave.

Andrew glanced back at Buffy, then glared at the new guy. “Go away, Warren. You just want people to help you take over Sunnydale, and I’m not in. You can go play with yourself.” And then he walked right past Warren to Jonathan.

“I’ve got something really cool to show you. Let’s go to your place. Your mom lets us sit on the couch.” He glared back at Warren one last time, then departed with a slightly-befuddled Jonathan in tow. Muttering in frustration, Warren headed off in a different direction.

Buffy watched them all go, then stretched her arms wide and took in deep lungsful of the night air.

“You’re walking, are you?” Spike stepped forward into her peripheral vision.

She shrugged casually. “Better me than any of them.” She started on her way.

He fell in beside her. “So. We’ve been going through the funfair over and over, yeah?”

“Yep.”

“How many times do you think we…?” She couldn’t see his face, walking next to him, but she suspected he was leering wickedly, from the tone of his voice.

Buffy laughed. “Who knows? Maybe this was the only time. Or maybe….” She took a deep breath, let it out. “Maybe it always happened. Maybe it was inevitable.” She suddenly took his hand, winding her fingers in his. “Maybe it would have happened even without the carnival.”

They walked in silence for a while, the sounds of the carnival fading behind them, but when the night was almost silent, the nocturnal sounds almost drowning out the faint hint of music, Spike gave Buffy’s hand a tug and stepped in front of her, looking at her with a thousand expressions at once, hope and terror and elation and confusion all mingled together in that way he had, so the expression was just… Spike.

“That last thing you said,” he growled. “Been trying to suss it out all this time, and I’m still muddled. Mind explaining?”

Buffy looked down at their joined hands. “Yeah. So, tonight was… well, it was a thing. Kind of a big thing, for me.” She looked up at him, suddenly afraid. “It… it was big for you, too, right?”

“Yeah,” Spike said, voice strangled. He cleared his throat, then repeated the word more clearly. “Yeah. It was big.”

She sighed, relieved. “So I was thinking it was sudden, that it came out of nowhere, but then I realized… it really didn’t. This thing, whatever it is, it’s been growing for months, like… I dunno, maybe a vine? All climbing up into us like a trellis. And tonight, it’s like all the flowers burst into bloom at once, and you look at them and think _wow, flowers!_ like they’re something brand new. Except… they were growing into flowers all along, you know?”

“…I know.”

“And I knew it was growing,” Buffy continued. “I could feel it, and I knew what was coming, but I was… I was scared. Because I didn’t know that they were going to be beautiful flowers. I kept thinking, what if they’re, like, skull flowers? Or poisonous? What if they’re all Little Shop of Horrors and eat people? What if they’re like those really smelly flowers, the ones that smell like a decaying corpse – aren’t they called corpse flowers? – and I actually know what that smells like, it’s really gross, and—“

“Buffy,” Spike interrupted. “I think you might be straining the analogy.”

“Am I?”

“Yeah, a bit.” He took up her other hand, gently. “And you’re babbling.”

Buffy huffed in frustration. “Okay. Sorry, I’m a little nervous. Um… where was I?”

“You were scared of the flowers.”

“Right.” She took another deep breath. “So anyhow, the flowers turned out to be beautiful, and now… now I’m not scared anymore.” She looked up at him, squeezing his fingers. “Now I can say it.”

“Buffy, I—“

“Shut up, Spike,” she said gently.

He looked at her sardonically. “That’s what you were waiting to say? You say that a dozen times a—“

Buffy silenced him with a kiss.

Their hands were still intertwined by their sides when she withdrew, and she tucked Spike’s hands behind her waist before sliding her own up his chest and around his neck, because she wanted him to be paying attention for this part.

Her voice was clear and confident. “I love you, Spike.”

He looked at her like she was a mirage, then groaned and wrapped his arms around her.

“Say it again,” he whispered into her hair.

She said it again, and again, but when he begged for a fourth time, she pushed out of his arms, laughing. “I think we’ve repeated enough things tonight, don’t you?”

Spike’s face suddenly hardened. “That Ethan bloke, he said it wasn’t over. That we’d get pulled back in and repeat the bloody funfair more times, until the energies dissipated.”

“Yeah, so?” Buffy took Spike’s hand up again and started walking down the road, reminded that there was still pummeling on the evening’s agenda. Which wasn’t as good as kissing Spike, but still was not to be missed.

He stalked along next to her, tense. “So we’re gonna forget this, yeah? Like we forgot all the other times. And then the last time through, that’s the one that’ll stick.” He ran his free hand through his hair angrily. “What if… what if we don’t end up with this?”

Buffy turned to him, cupping a hand around his cheek. “Spike. Did you miss the part where I said inevitable?” She firmed up her hand, just enough that he knew she was serious. “The evil carnival didn’t make this happen. _We_ made this happen, all summer, and if in the very end it doesn’t happen at the carnival? It’s still going to happen.” And she kissed him until he believed her. Or at least as long as she could before coming up for air, but she was pretty sure from the look in his eyes afterwards that she’d made him a believer.

They started walking again, and soon they came upon Spike’s ancient black car.

Spike dropped Buffy’s hand and jogged a little ahead, opening the shotgun door for her. “Give you a ride back to town?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” she said lightly, sliding onto the bench seat and fastening her seatbelt. When he slid in behind the wheel, she unfastened it again and slid over to the middle, fastening _that_ seatbelt and snuggling up while he started the ignition and shifted into drive.

He rested his arm around her shoulders gingerly, like he thought she was a balloon that might pop at any moment. “So,” he said casually. “Any plans for the rest of the night?”

She shrugged. “Was planning on staying in for at least two hours.” She took hold of his hand, tugging it more securely around her. “Or maybe five.”

He laughed shortly, squeezing her shoulder. “All right then.”

Buffy cuddled into Spike as he drove the DeSoto down the road, leaving the lights and sounds and tastes of the carnival behind them forever.

Or at least until the next adventure.

 

Congratulations on helping Buffy and Spike solve the mystery of the Carnivorous Carnival! Would you like to try again? [Go to Chapter 1!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20978552)

[Read the Author’s Notes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20983016)


	72. Chapter 72

Buffy considered it for a moment, but then shook her head. “We already know there’s dimensional portals all over this stupid carnival. Probably best not to risk it.”

“All right then,” Spike said easily, then lifted her up to sit on the hood of the VW, leaning forward until his body was pressed all along hers. “This works just as well.”

“Oh, but I’m still eating my snow cone,” Buffy teased. “You have to wait.” She dug out a bit of raspberry-flavored ice on her spoon, smugly popping it in her mouth.

Spike lifted an eyebrow and took the paper cone and the spoon out of her hand. “Allow me,” he purred, feeding her another bite, still pressed against her. She shivered, but not from the cold.

The next bite he offered dripped a bit, spots of syrup landing on Buffy’s shirt.

“Sorry, pet,” Spike said wryly. “this could get messy.”

“It could, couldn’t it?” Buffy said, feeling like she could barely breathe, and before she thought better of the impulse, took hold of the hem of her shirt and wiggled it off over her head.

Spike’s eyes drifted closed for a moment, as if in prayer, and then he offered her another bite as if nothing had happened.

She licked the syrup off the spoon. “Do you like raspberry?” she asked softly.

He shrugged negligently. “Well enough.”

Buffy smiled, and deliberately missed the next spoonful, gasping when the ice landed on her collarbone. “Well enough to… take care of that?” she whispered, quivering with anticipation.

Spike rolled his eyes good-naturedly, and then his cool lips were on her chest, sucking up the tiny bits of shaved ice. He gave it a final businesslike lick, and served up another spoonful. Buffy accepted that one – she liked raspberry better than well enough – but then fumbled the next. The syrupy blue ice landed on the curve of her breast, oozing slowly downwards.

She just whispered his name, and he was there, licking up the trail of blue with alacrity.

He offered another spoonful, but she gave him a stern look and took the spoon from his hand. “You’re not doing it right,” she said darkly, and took the blue ice and plopped it right on her nipple, arching her back pointedly, and he sucked her chilled breast into his cool mouth, and that was it, Buffy stopped playing games.

She painted stripes of ice all along her torso, wherever she wanted Spike’s mouth – which it turned out was basically everywhere – and then pushed him away and dripped ice on her knees and then her thighs and then when she was shaking uncontrollably, she yanked her skirt all the way up to her waist, and Spike got the hint right off, skinning her panties down to her ankles, tugging them off and tossing them behind him, and then she looked him right in the eye as she dripped a huge spoonful of snow-cone right on her crotch, and the cold made her gasp and then Spike’s mouth made her scream as he sucked off all the ice, and oh god his mouth was like ice now too, chilled and shocking and perfect, his cold tongue sending her right over the edge, and while she was still twitching from aftershocks, he rose up, eyes burning hot, and he must have undone his jeans somewhere along the line because his cock was there and hard and ready and Buffy wrapped her legs around his hips as he fit himself to her and plunged inside.

He kissed her deeply with his cold, cold mouth as he drove into her, and she arched up to meet him because god oh god it had never been like this, she needed more, she muttered it into his lips and he gave her more, hooking an elbow under one of her knees and pumping harder, and the new angle sent her over the edge again, and he laughed wickedly and – oh god no – pulled away.

She reached for him, but he took her by the waist and turned her over, so her sticky belly was pressed into the curved hood of the car, and then he was in her again, driving into her from behind, his hands tucked into the curve of her knees to spread her wide, and the car was cool hard metal against her breasts and he was cool and hard inside her and she convulsed around him again, tears leaking out from her eyelids as she cried out, and he muttered something unintelligible into the nape of her neck and gave a few more hard quick thrusts, shouting his own release into her shoulder.

After a bit they shifted around until they were in a more snuggly position, Buffy leaning against the windshield while Spike nuzzled into her throat.

“What did you say?” she suddenly asked.

He shrugged against her, pressing a light kiss to her collarbone, just where the first drip of snow cone had landed. (Where had the rest of that gone, anyway? She must have dropped it at some point…) “Nothing you haven’t heard before,” he muttered.

She stroked his hair softly. “Tell me again, then.”

Spike lifted himself up on his elbow, meeting her eyes. “I love you, Buffy.” He looked away then. “You know that.”

“Yeah,” she whispered softly. “Thanks.”

And she stared up at the crossbeam of the tent, wondering why the same words sounded different now than they had before.

*

For the first few minutes of cuddling, Buffy felt like she could stay there draped bonelessly across the hood of the little Volkswagon forever, but when she started to come down from the euphoria of having her mind blown, she noticed that the car’s windshield wipers were poking painfully into the small of her back, and once she’d noticed she couldn’t _un-_ notice, so finally she nudged Spike to his feet and started reassembling her clothing. After locating her shirt, she retrieved her panties from where they had landed – dangling off a rack of various-sized horns and noisemakers – and wriggled back into them, trying not to wrinkle her nose. Those poor polka-dot panties had really been through a lot tonight.

Spike had gotten all zipped away as well – though he was still gorgeously mussed – and was poking around the corners of the storage tent, finally diving behind a wig rack and coming out with the black kitten, which meowed and wriggled petulantly.

“That’s three,” he said, voice dripping with satisfaction that Buffy was very certain had very little to do with the kitten-capture, because he sounded just like she felt.

Replete and exhausted, but already looking forward to more. 

 

[GO TO CHAPTER 94](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981942)


	73. Chapter 73

Spike’s heart almost started beating when Buffy caught hold of his duster, keeping him from following after the kitten.

“Stay,” she said softly, and so he stayed, looking down at her, not sure how to read her voice. When she gave another tug at the leather, he sat down beside her.

She turned to him, face serious. “We can track down the kitten in a bit. And you know what? There’s always going to be something else to chase. Another demon ritual to crash. Another apocalypse to avert. And sometimes… Sometimes I just have to stop running, you know? The universe isn’t going to give me moments of my own, time to laugh or talk or… or love. I have to take them.” She looked down for a moment, then slid her hands up around his neck. “I’m taking this moment.”

Spike looked down at her, a thousand words coming to his lips, but then she was kissing them, drinking all his words away, and he fell into her like she was the ocean, vast and deep, beautiful and deadly, kissing her until she was gasping for breath, his hands stroking sonnets into her skin.

This was why he’d been a bloody awful poet, he knew – because words were, no matter how he tried, not his natural medium; no, he was meant to speak like this, with his hands and his body and his heart. Victorian England had bound him in a straitjacket, twisted in rules and proprieties, unable to be himself; Drusilla had set him free, but had in turn bound him in her own way, dangling him like a puppet. Now, here with Buffy, he felt more himself than he had ever been in his long existence, like the pieces of Spike had come together somehow to make… not a complete self, he knew there was something else missing, but still something _more_.

And so he lay Buffy back on the leather-shrouded crate, and wrote his poetry on her body.

She hadn’t finished her cookies, and so he plucked one from the carton and held it out to her; as she took a bite he ran his other hand up under her shirt to cup her breast, rubbing his thumb against the sweet hard nipple, and she moaned around the melted chocolate, arching into his touch. Another bite freed his other hand and he claimed her other breast, stroking tenderly then hard, feeling her arousal build, and then he gently worked the shirt up and over her head, so he could finally look at her, and she looked back at him with serene eyes, brushing a hand across his cheek as he watched his own hands on her, marveling at the very fact of this moment.

He held out another cookie for her, and as her lips closed on it, his closed on her nipple, sucking it right into his mouth; she made a needy sound in the back of her throat, her hands coming up to tangle in his hair, and he curled his tongue around the hard nubbin, giving another lick with each bite she took of the cookie, gasping when she finished and sucked his fingers into her mouth, her tongue mirroring his, swirling and sucking and nibbling, and _bugger_ he was going to come in his trousers like a schoolboy if she kept that up; he snatched his shaking hand away, fumbling for another cookie, because he was a bloody glutton for punishment. He held it out to her, and she took it as he took her other nipple, hard and urgent this time, and god, she was hungry, snapping up the cookie in two bites and curling her pink tongue around his thumb, sucking rhythmically, and he matched her rhythm on her nipple, sucking harder and harder and god, he couldn’t bear it anymore; he shifted around between her legs, hands tugging at her panties. She rose up on her elbows, watching him with a little smile as he stripped her, and when he glared up her body, all desire and hunger, she took another cookie and brought it slowly to her mouth, biting down just as Spike set his mouth to her, and bugger bugger bugger she was so wet already, tasting of ambrosia, making little _mmmms_ of approval with each stroke of his tongue. He found the hard nub of her clit and bloody buggering _fuck_ , the way she trembled when he licked at it, the sound of her voice begging him for more, the slick glorious heat and the knowledge that this wasn’t some substitute, this was _Buffy_ , it was really Buffy trembling for him, and he pushed her and pushed her, higher and higher, until she gasped and shuddered with orgasm, so wet, so bloody wet, and he rose up on his knees, fumbling at his belt, feeling wild and reckless and overflowing, and something of all of this must have shown in his face, because Buffy sat up far enough to cup his cheek tenderly as he undid his trousers, scooting herself down to the edge of the crate and then reaching down to stroke his cock when it was finally free and oh god it was glorious but he needed more; he fit his cock to her and plunged home.

Bloody _hell_ , she was hot and slick, like nothing he had ever felt, and he had to grit his teeth not to come just from the joy of the moment, because he wanted to savor this, and so he just looked at her, drinking in the sight of her, half naked and making love to him, and she looked up at him, her face radiant with wonder, and then it was all too much, he couldn’t wait anymore. He took her hips in his hands and pumped in her, trying to make it slow, trying to make it good, but then she clenched around him, grinning seductively around yet another cookie, and he struck back with an extra deep thrust that made her eyes roll back in her head, and then the peace shattered and they were pounding together like a thunderstorm, Buffy giving as good as she got, her ankles locked around his back and her hips tilting up to meet him and oh fuck whatever that was she was doing with her internal muscles was bloody brilliant, and then her eyes widened and she gasped with another orgasm, and the feel of her clenching around him was all it took; Spike came so hard he nearly blacked out, falling forward over Buffy’s quivering belly.

As he came back to himself, Buffy’s chest heaving beneath him and her fingers in her hair and the slickness of their spendings, he knew he should say something, that there were a thousand clever things a woman like Buffy deserved to hear, but… he’d already said it all, in the language he spoke best, and so he simply kissed her gently on the lips – she tasted of chocolate – and murmured the one thing it always came down to, the core truth of his current existence.

“I love you.”

The glow of her smile afterwards was answer enough.

*

After a bit, Buffy started to shift as if she were uncomfortable – which she likely was, this being a crate in a bloody storage tent and not a posh feather bed at The Goring – which in turn meant that Buffy’s stolen moment was probably due for an end. Spike gave each bit of her beautiful nakedness a farewell caress before she covered it up again, matter-of-factly cleaning up and tucking himself away, finally donning his duster. Which could probably use a good cleaning, but Spike wasn’t so fastidious he couldn’t wear it.

“So,” he said bracingly. “Kitten.”

“Yeah,” Buffy said absently, apparently lost in thought.

Spike headed towards the tent opening the kitten had darted out of, resigned to a long hard slog through all the tents and attractions they’d seen before, then stopped in his tracks. There the Siamese kitten lay, curled up and fast asleep in a little hollow beneath the tent ropes.

He snatched it up and held it up like an offering to Buffy, who brightened. “That’s three!”

“About bloody time,” Spike muttered, though he was grinning.

After all, he’d just shagged the most beautiful, deadly, glorious, and infuriating woman in the world. And it had been bloody fantastic.

He might _never_ stop smiling.

 

[GO TO CHAPTER 94](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981942)

 


	74. Chapter 74

Buffy accepted the little paper carton of deep-fried cookie dough balls with a little mental apology to those green leather pants that she might not fit into ever again, but oh they looked good, golden brown and crispy, the faintest dusting of powdered sugar along the tops.

 _I’ll just have to work off the calories somehow,_ she thought with a shrug, glancing over at Spike, who had claimed a picnic table for them after paying for the cookies, lounging with his elbows up and scanning their surroundings for kitten signs.

He could be her workout buddy.

Buffy put a little extra swing in her hips as she strolled up to him, plucking out one of the balls of batter-wrapped cookie dough, holding it out for him. He lifted an eyebrow and opened his mouth, and she popped it in.

He bit off half, taking the rest in his hand and looking at it curiously, while Buffy settled down next to him, taking a bite of her first one, crisp flaky outside and sinfully gooey cookie inside, and then Spike dropped his arm around her shoulders, and oh, talk about gooey and sinful insides, she felt like she was melting, like saying right out loud that she wanted to have sex with Spike had just opened the floodgates and now she was awash with hunger and anticipation, just the feel of his hand on her shoulder making her quiver.

“See any sign of the kitten?” she asked casually, scooching in a little closer.

Spike popped the rest of his cookie in his mouth, licking off his fingers sharply. “Not a hair. Though I’m thinking that shed behind the Zipper seems a likely spot.”

“For the kitten to hide?”

Spike’s fingers tightened fractionally. “For privacy.”

Buffy rolled her eyes, eating another gooey deep-fried cookie. “You do realize that if we get this kitten thing squared away, we then have the rest of the night off. We can do whatever we want, for as long as we want.” She frowned at her next cookie. Wasn’t there something else she was supposed to do tonight?

Spike was looking down at her, bemused. “Whatever we want?”

She looked up at him through her lashes, licking a bit of melted chocolate off her lips.

“Right, then!” He clapped her on the shoulder, rolling to his feet. “Let’s find that kitten!”

*

Anya was torn as to which carnival attraction they should try next, but then she saw a sign that made her squeal.

“Well, it’s a good thing you did all that vomiting earlier! Look!”

Xander obediently looked over at the sign that read _PIE EATING CONTEST! FABULOUS PRIZES!_ and groaned, which Anya easily interpreted as an ecstatic ‘yes’; she took him by the hand and dragged him into the contest tent.

Ten minutes later, she watched happily from the edge of the stage as Xander sat in the row of contestants, hands tied behind his back, a cherry pie in front of him. He had dragged his feet when they’d first entered the tent – poor baby must still be feeling queasy – but his eyes had goggled out at the table of prizes, which had as the grand prize a diamond bracelet. The second and third place prizes were nothing to sneeze at either, but that bracelet was just obviously meant for Anya’s slim and graceful wrist, and he had gladly signed all the paperwork for entering the contest and forked over his ten-dollar entry fee.

Anya glanced over at the bracelet now, feeling a bit wistful. She and Xander had talked a bit about other diamonds, specifically the fact that she really, really, _really_ wanted an engagement ring, but he’d hemmed and hawed and stalled and finally just come out and said that he _did_ want to marry Anya, but not until he’d gotten a little more money in the bank and possibly grown old enough to legally drink the champagne toast at his own reception, which made sense to her, though you’d think the stupid laws would be flexible about newlyweds, at least when one of those newlyweds was Anya, whose actual lived years averaged out with Xander’s to more than twenty _times_ the drinking age. But he’d then gone on to point out that being married and having kids would probably mean toning down the sexcapades, and that had made even more sense to Anya, because she was _so_ not ready to hang the handcuffs up forever. So she’d agreed that waiting would be good, and when she thought on it later, she reminded herself that Xander was still really young, that even though they were the same age in body she herself had centuries of experience on him, and so maybe he did need to grow up just a bit before tying the knot.

But that was all water under the bridge now. Anya had revised her five-year plan to a ten-year plan, adjusted her investments accordingly, and she was going all out in enjoying their freewheeling sexy young lovers’ lifestyle, making sure she got as much living in as possible before she had to pack it all away and start selling Mary Kay and going to PTA meetings.

She was really going to miss those handcuffs.

She was jolted out of her musings by the starting bell, and looked up to see Xander burying his face in his pie.

She couldn’t really see what he was doing, because the pie was in the way, but that meant he was doing it right, getting his tongue in and turning his head from side to side to get as much pie as possible without any wasted movement, and Anya shivered, because imagining what his tongue was doing to the pie made her then imagine his tongue doing those very things to her, which she knew from experience was a really, really good thing. That was the nice thing about having a boyfriend who liked to eat; he was a blue-ribbon-gold-medal champ at oral sex.

And possibly a champ at pie tonight – he was the first to lift his head, jerking his chin for more as he chewed, and then he was buried in the next pie and Anya was buried in her fantasies again.

It was a close contest – the guy down at the end was a Sepulva demon, which Anya privately thought wasn’t fair, given the second stomach – but she had faith in her man, and when the final bell rang and the judges investigated each final plate, attendants untying the contestants’ hands, her faith was vindicated. They raised Xander’s arm overhead in victory and he beamed down at her, face covered in cherry goo.

God, she loved him.

*

“Oh, darnit! Not another Pidgey!”

Andrew pouted in frustration as he stared at the screen of his Very Smart Phone. He’d just managed, through wily strategy and a mean curveball, to capture a Great Pokémon of Legend, and he had thought he was on his way to bigger and better things, truly destined to become the Greatest Pokémon Master of All Time. The Very Best, Like No-One Ever Was. How was he supposed to do that if he had to keep wasting his time on frickin’ _Pidgeys_?

 _Ah, well_ , he sighed in resignation, sitting down on a bench so he could do his Pokémon Master duty. _It is not by great deeds alone that wars are won…_ Was that a quote from somewhere? It really should be. He made a note to write it down later for his memoirs, just in case it was an Andrew Wells Original.

“That’s right, little Pidgey,” he crooned, lining up his Poké Ball. “You may just be a little chick in a big future-mall, but together, we can change the world….”

“Whatcha got there?”

Andrew looked up from his Very Smart Phone to see Jonathan looking down at him curiously. “Nothing!” he said hastily, shoving the phone in his pocket. “Just, you know. Nintendo.”

Warren strolled up then, and Andrew gave him a suspicious glare. Future Andrew had warned about Jonathan and Warren, but Andrew had a sneaking suspicion that Warren was the evil mastermind behind the nefarious plans of which he now had foreknowledge. Which made him both kinda hinky and kinda cool.

 _Not as cool as Future Me_ , Andrew reassured himself. Warren didn’t even have a leather duster. He just wore, like, T-shirts and flannels.

“So, you coming over for games this weekend?”

Had Warren’s voice always been that oily? “Maybe,” Andrew hedged. “I might have chores.”

“Well, you can always come by tonight. This carnival kinda blows, we were heading home in a bit. Interested?”

“Maybe,” Andrew mumbled again, but Warren clapped him on the back like he’d just given an enthusiastic _yes_.

“All right! We were going to go grab some chili-bacon-jalapeño dogs, you in?”

“No, uh… jalapeños give me gas.”

Warren laughed, too loudly. “Whoa, yeah, let’s not go there before the big game session then. My parents’ basement doesn’t have any ventilation. How’s about we meet you at the entrance, then? Say twenty minutes?”

Andrew didn’t even have a chance to answer before Warren and Jonathan, the Evil Duo of Future Evilness, strolled off towards the food stands.

“I’m not going,” he muttered to himself, pulling out his Very Smart Phone and staring at it glumly. The Pidgey had long since flown. He hadn’t even gotten to see the amusing little puff of smoke. There weren’t any other Pokémon around to catch, either.

He sat on the bench, all alone.

*

Buffy caught a glimpse of the Siamese kitten just a few minutes later, darting into a plain brown tent set a ways back from the midway; she took hold of Spike’s hand and tugged him along.

Inside the tent was dim, lit by a single bare bulb at the very center, utilitarian extension cord draped between the tent supports until it disappeared under the canvas wall. The tent itself contained plastic bins of what looked like food service equipment, bins marked _FLOUR_ and _SUGAR_ and _MSG_ , and miscellaneous wooden crates.

“Well,” Buffy said. “Looks like we found the Evil Supply Tent.”

Spike came up behind her, setting his hands lightly on her hips. “A fine and _private_ Evil Supply Tent.”

Buffy could only agree.

*

Willow and Tara stopped partway along the midway to watch a street magician who had set up a table between the arcade and the churros stand.

He was good, making balls and coins disappear and reappear with such alacrity and showmanship that Willow frowned. “Is he using real magic?”

Tara shook her head. “Just sleight of hand. Can’t you feel it?”

Willow smiled sheepishly. “Sorry. I’m not really as sensitive as you are.”

“Here.” Tara wound her fingers in Willow’s more tightly, letting her eyelids flutter closed. “Tune in with me.”

Oh, Willow loved when Tara would do this, open up her soul so the two of them could kind of flow together, attuned to each other and to the world around them; she closed her own eyes and let go.

The world was more beautiful through Tara eyes – Willow only got a pale shadow of it, but the passersby were suddenly glowing with all the colors of the rainbow, and the earth beneath their feet seemed to hum, and she turned her Tara-eyes on the magician, and she could see it now, how his aura was all-over the same, without the tingles and zips that Tara had taught her meant magical energies were at work.

“What’s that grey patch, right at the middle?” she whispered.

Tara looked over at her then. “Hunger. He… he probably hasn’t eaten for a while.”

Willow shook out of the trance, looking at the magician again with her own eyes. Now that she knew to look for it, she could see that his hands were trembling slightly. The battered top hat on the ground in front of his table had only a few dollars in it – probably his own, left there as a suggestion.

With another glance at Tara, Willow dug into her purse. She didn’t have a lot, though, and wouldn’t until financial aid for the fall came in. Tara added her few dollars to the fund, and they tucked them into the hat with a smile.

“That’ll get him something tonight,” Willow said with satisfaction.

“And tomorrow?” Tara’s eyes were worried.

Willow looked at the passersby, who were barely glancing the magician’s direction. “It’s a shame nobody’s watching. He’s really good.”

Tara gripped her hand tightly again. “We could help.”

“Could we? That wouldn’t upset the balance? Or upset him?”

“We won’t do anything to his act. He’s good enough that if people just look, they’ll enjoy. And we won’t _make_ anything happen. We’ll just… ask.”

They stepped off out of the path, between two tents, and Tara took both of Willow’s hands in hers, closing her eyes. “He just needs people to look, right? So we’ll call upon the light.”

Willow nodded and closed her own eyes, feeling the energies surging up through her feet from the earth, through Tara’s hands and back, around and around and around, all connected and natural, flowing like water, and she could feel Tara with her, their hearts synchronizing and their souls embracing, and together they sent out their humble request to the light, and the light answered.

There was a gasp from the crowd, and they peeked around the edge of the tent to see a brilliant lightshow following the magician’s movements. A passing family stopped to look, and then a couple, and then more, until he had a small crowd. The lightshow faded quickly, but they had been right – once the magician had an audience, they liked what they saw, and money started to come to his hat – not a magical rain of coins, like Willow might once have tried to create, but honest money given freely for honest entertainment.

“There,” Tara said with satisfaction. “That was a good thing.”

“You know what else is a good thing?” Willow said slyly, tugging Tara back between the tents. “You.”

Their magic was better without a crowd.

*

Giles stumbled wearily onward. He had found a spigot, a sink, and a water fountain, all of which had refused to yield water when he approached, and had finally lowered himself to wiping his glasses on the tail of his shirt, only to find that the candy floss had hardened like epoxy, resisting all his efforts to wipe or scrape it away, and so he had resigned himself to near-blindness, holding his glasses in his hand as he wandered through the indistinct blobs of the fair, hoping against hope that one of the blobs would turn out to be Buffy.

The fair was most definitely evil, and he felt she should know.

He tripped again, and his glasses flew out of his grasp, landing on the ground in front of them. There was no sound of shattering, though, so he crouched down and felt around until he found them, resting in a pile of something soft.

He lifted his glasses and looked ruefully at their new coating of brown.

“Elephant dung. Perfect.”

*

They kept hearing meows, but after several minutes of moving boxes and peering behind racks, they had yet to catch a glimpse of the Siamese kitten. Finally, Spike shrugged out of his duster and spread it out on one of the wooden crates.

“Have a seat, Slayer,” he grumbled. “May as well eat your fried thingamabobs while the kitten’s playing least-in-sight.”

“Aren’t we on a deadline here?” Buffy frowned, sitting on the black leather.

Spike gave a negligent shrug. “Got plenty of time,” he said casually. “You worried?”

Buffy shrugged back, trying to look just as unconcerned. “Well, there was talk of biting off heads.”

Spike hunkered down in front of her, tilting his head to peer up at her, expression vaguely pleased. “So you’re worried.”

“Well, of course I’m worried!” Buffy said sharply. “You’re my…. You’re…” _You’re mine_ , she thought fiercely, but god, she couldn’t say that, he’d think something weird, so instead she plucked one of her still-warm cookie bites out of the carton, taking a bite and mumbling through the gooey chocolate chips, “You’re my patrol buddy.”

He grinned up at her like she’d just told him Santa Claus was real, and was opening his mouth to say something in reply when there was a flash of movement that made them both turn their heads. The Siamese kitten had just leaped down from wherever it had been hiding, and as they watched it dashed right out the entrance of the tent.

“Bugger!” Spike snarled, springing to his feet. “Should we go after it?”

 

Follow the kitten?

Yes [GO TO CHAPTER 13](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20979089)

No [GO TO CHAPTER 73](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981390)


	75. Chapter 75

Buffy lost sight of the kitten almost immediately, but she didn’t care, because when Spike joined her in the private little corner, he caught her by the waist, pulling her back against him. She laughed.

“Naughty, naughty,” he said darkly into her ear. “Walking about without your knickers on.”

She shrugged elaborately. “You don’t know that.”

“Don’t I?” He wrapped his arms around her snugly. “Got a pair of pants in my pocket telling me I’m right.”

Buffy turned in his arms, slipping her hands up to lock behind his neck. “Maybe it’s all a ruse. Maybe those are decoy panties.”

Spike lifted a sardonic eyebrow. “One way to find out.” And he tucked his hands up under her skirt, taking firm hold of her ass. “Aha. I rest my case.”

“You got me, Sherlock,” she said sweetly. “Now, what are you going to do with me?”

His eyes narrowed, and one of his hands gripped tighter while the other slid around her hip to the front, and oh god he obviously knew just what he was going to do with her, and she was totally on board with his doing just what he was doing, except maybe more.

He walked her back until she was leaning against the back of a game, her feet half-tangled in the cords, his hand stroking surely the whole time. “You have the most delicious arse,” he said, voice as level as if he were complimenting her penmanship.

“Thank you,” Buffy gasped.

“Been wondering if other parts of you are just as delicious.”

“Maybe they are.”

He lifted a challenging eyebrow. “One way to find out.” And he dropped to his knees and took the edge of her skirt in his hands, lifting it up.

“Hold that out of the way, would you, love?”

Buffy nodded and took the skirt in her fingertips, holding it up as if she were about to curtsey, as Spike matter-of-factly hooked one of her legs up over her shoulder. It was all very polite and normal and businesslike.

And then it wasn’t.

Buffy’s ironic detachment fell away like shattered ice at the first touch of Spike’s cool tongue, and from the way he swore, clutching at her ass, his composure had also gone the way of the dodo; he hungrily licked and sucked at her and she hooked her leg around his back, demanding more, and she was so worked up from the slow burn of teasing and the hot passion of his starving mouth that she peaked hard and fast, nearly falling down from the force of her orgasm. Spike laughed brokenly and tugged her down to the ground – which worked for Buffy, since her legs were kinda giving out anyhow – tossing both her legs over his shoulder as he doubled down with his tongue, bringing his hands into play, his fingers pumping into her as he sucked on her clit, and oh god Buffy hoped their corner of the arcade had stayed deserted because she couldn’t stop the noises that were coming out of her mouth, needy whimpers and undignified grunts and a harsh gasp when she came again, and then suddenly Spike had a hand in her hair, he was looking into her eyes, jaw set as he worked her with his hand, and for a moment Buffy thought maybe there was something she should be doing, some sexy face she should be putting on, but then he pressed a swift, hard kiss to her forehead.

“Need to see your face,” he bit out hoarsely. “Need to see what you look like when—“

And she came under his fingers with blinding force, and when she could see again, he was gazing at her with tender satisfaction, eyes soft and wondering.

She realized belatedly that she was still holding up the edges of her skirt.

“There you go, Slayer,” Spike said smugly. “And that’s why you should always remember to wear your knickers.” And he pressed her panties into her hand.

*

It took a bit of untangling, and Buffy’s legs weren’t especially keen on working, but eventually they managed to get standing again, Buffy blushing a bit as she pulled her panties back on, even though she knew it was silly to be embarrassed in front of someone who’d just been crazy friendly with her ladyparts, and just as Buffy was starting to feel like she could appear in public without immediately being unmasked as the Skank of the Century, she heard a plaintive _meow!_ and looked down to see the black kitten winding around her ankles.

Spike bent and scooped it up, tucking it neatly into his basket. “There we go. Two down.”

Buffy felt a little disappointed at the thought. Was their date really two-thirds over?

She kind of didn’t want it to end.

 

[GO TO CHAPTER 133](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982806)


	76. Chapter 76

Buffy sauntered into the striped tent, giving her butt an extra twitch as she walked, because she knew Spike was following her, and she knew by now he had to have discovered the underwear in his pocket, and so thus she also knew that he knew she was currently sans panties, and all that knowledge added up to the inevitable conclusion that Spike’s eyes were almost certainly riveted on her behind, hoping for a breeze.

It was heady, the power and awareness. Buffy remembered what it had felt like to be Cave Buffy, single-minded in her pursuit of what she wanted, and she felt the same way now – except that she was whole-minded and fully cognizant of what she was doing, which was way, way better. Like, if she’d been Cave Buffy right now, she would have been just flinging him down to the floor regardless of their surroundings, ripping off his clothes and screwing him right into the ground, but… Okay, actually, that sounded really good to Powerful Not-Cave-Buffy too, except for the fact that there were actually a bunch of people here, performers on individual stages ringing the tent – she saw a juggler and acrobats and a tattooed lady, just in one glance – and a few dozen wandering audience members.

She had to get Spike alone.

Fortunately, she spotted the black kitten then, its tail flicking as it ducked behind a curtain. A very private-looking curtain.

She sighed in gratitude. _That’ll do, kitten. That’ll do._

She winked over her shoulder at Spike – who was indeed looking just where she wanted him to.

“This way, Spike,” she said in an inviting voice, and followed the kitten.

*

Willow knew they should be looking for the kitten – and she was looking, really she was! – but Tara just kept spinning her little goldfishie around on its keychain clip and giving her those happy sidelong looks and generally being adorable, and after a bit more desultory investigation, Willow took her lover by the hand and tugged her back in the direction of the goldfish toss.

“Come on, we’ve got enough tickets I can win you something bigger.”

Oddly, when they got back to the booth, the setup of the game had changed. Instead of just being a flat table covered with a layer of goldfish bowls, the bowls had been arranged on tiered steps, and some of them were different colors – red, blue, and even one that was glimmering gold. It was nestled in among the other bowls in a way that Willow knew – as a Goldfish Toss Expert – would be nigh-impossible to manage.

The attendant-who-couldn’t-possibly-be-Jared handed her five balls in exchange for her tickets. “Three in to win.”

“What about that gold bowl?”

He shrugged, bored. “If you can get one ball in the gold bowl….” He waved vaguely in the direction of the big goldfish plushies that Tara had liked.

 _Oooh._ Willow narrowed her eyes. Gold bowl it was.

Her first ball plopped neatly into one of the plain bowls next to it.

Second ball ping-ponged off the rim, into the side of one of the tiered steps, and off into the corner.

Willow tried a fancy ricochet shot on the third, using those same steps, and it almost worked – she got the angle right and it plopped right into the bowl – but there was too much momentum and the ball plopped right back out again.

Her fourth ball, Willow hesitated. She could keep trying for the gold bowl, or she could lob it easily into one of the plain bowls and try for a three-in win, maybe get a second goldfish keychain so they could have a matched set, but her wavering made her tentative, and the ball bounced smugly off the easy-in bowl she’d picked.

So it was down to the gold bowl.

Willow narrowed her eyes and gritted her teeth and aimed.

“ _Stay in,_ ” she muttered under her breath, tossing the ball, and it wasn’t until the rush of magic went through her that she realized what she had done.

One of the things she and Tara had been working on was control – it had become increasingly clear that Willow’s connection to magic was so deep and primal that she often didn’t even need a spell to make things happen, just a word and the right kind of concentration, and after some of the disasters of the past year, Willow had made a real effort to manage her focus, so as to avoid rampaging trolls and the like. And she knew Tara wouldn’t want a cheat-prize, even if it was an accidental cheat. So as the ball sailed through the air and landed easily and permanently right in the middle of the gold bowl, she waved her hand in the air.

“Sorry!” she babbled, glancing over at Tara. “That one doesn’t count. Let me get you another ticket, I’ll try again.”

But not-Jared’s eyes glowed, and he smiled, and suddenly Willow realized it was in fact Jared, an undead Jared or a ghosty Jared or maybe just something awful pretending to be Jared, and now that she thought of it, maybe ghosty-Jared might still be cranky about that time Willow had refused to let him cheat off her math test, back when they’d been in the same math class, which they hadn’t after that because Jared had flunked math…

Willow turned to Tara, and Tara’s eyes were huge, and at first Willow thought it was because Tara was upset about the control thing, but then she felt her body tingling and she looked down at her hands and she realized they were changing, puffing out and getting fluffy and oh god, the same thing was happening to Tara, Tara was changing right in front of her eyes, and she felt herself lifting off the ground, floating up in the air as she changed and fluffed and shrank, until she didn’t feel like Willow at all, and Tara…

Tara had become a huge, fuzzy, stuffed goldfish. Only her eyes still held a gleam of Tara in them, and as Willow watched, even that bit of sparkle faded away, leaving just glassy blankness.

Willow couldn’t see what she had become, but she had her suspicions, because all she could see in her peripheral vision was orange.

And then Jared took hold of her and fishie-Tara and hooked them up to the top of the booth with the other prizes, whistling a jaunty tune.

They were staying.

*

Anya changed her mind about the Tilt-a-Whirl the second she laid on eyes on it. It didn’t look fun at all, just like a lot of being thrown around over and over again, jerky and repetitive. If Anya was going to get thrown around and subjected to something jerky and repetitive, she’d rather just have sex, which was jerky and repetitive with orgasms.

So instead she got Xander some nice cool water – with her own money, because she was a working gal – and found a quiet corner where she could give him a backrub while he got over being sick. And then she thought maybe he needed a bit of a belly rub to help him get over being sick, so she laid him back on the bench and rubbed his belly, and then when he was starting to look less green and more like his usual jolly self, she found another place to rub, to help him perk up.

And oh, did he perk up.

Fortunately, Anya had thought ahead – because thinking that she’d rather have sex than ride the Tilt-a-Whirl had given her the idea of _actually_ having sex instead of riding the Tilt-a-Whirl – and there was a nice utility shed just past the bench where she and Xander could be alone.

He wasn’t feeling sick at all any more, Anya could tell, but she suspected he should take it easy for a while anyhow, so she led him in and helped him get comfortable, putting his water within reach, just in case. Then she let him watch while she took off all her clothes – folding them neatly off to the side because _criminey!_ dry cleaning was expensive – and prepared to do everything possible to make her sweetie-bear feel better.

She’d been doing yoga lately on her mornings off from the Magic Box, and had been dying to show Xander just how flexible she’d gotten.

He was speechless.

Anya was preparing to demonstrate her perfect backbend – well, a variation on it at least – when she thought she heard something.

_Stay in!_

“Was that Willow?” she asked Xander, but he was looking at her in horror, and then she could feel her body fizzling, dissolving and reforming, like when she used to be able to teleport except not as pleasant, and she wrapped her arms around Xander and held tight, because if something horrible was happening, she really wanted them to at least be together.

And they were.

*

Giles stood in the middle of the midway, unable to see more than vague flashes through the rare clean spots on his glasses. He couldn’t even see well enough to get back to his bench, and his few forays into walking in random directions had led to his nearly treading on other patrons of the funfair, and so he was standing still in the hopes that someone would come along who could help him.

“Having a problem?”

The voice was British and familiar, and Giles tensed for a moment before realizing that no, it couldn’t possibly be Ethan Rayne, he had been locked in a cell by the government; it must be the gentleman from the pub.

“Perhaps a bit,” he said wryly. “I need to return to the entrance.”

“Here, friend. Let me help you along.” The barkeep took him by the elbow and started to walk with him, guiding him through the crowd.

“Rather annoying, not being able to see,” Giles laughed ruefully, feeling the need to converse politely. “Ridiculous, in fact.”

“How’s that?”

“Well, I’m a Watcher, you see. And for a Watcher to be unable to see…. Well, it’s not the first time, but I do find it rather…”

“Ironic?”

Giles frowned as he was helped up a step. Something about that voice…. “Shouldn’t we have reached the entrance by now?”

“Oh, you don’t want to leave, old friend. Stay.”

Giles looked down at the hand on his arm, and realized with growing horror that it was long and thin, a far cry from the barkeep’s sturdy workman’s hands, and he tore his arm away and turned to run, but it was too late.

He stayed.

*

Andrew was just about to take a break for some hard-earned churros, when his phone vibrated with the appearance of another Pokémon, and he smiled involuntarily when he saw that it was one of the cutest of the Pokémon, Jigglypuff.

Tucker had always mocked Jigglypuff, so Andrew had always kept it a secret, but he had a soft spot for the little pink puffball. It was such a zen little fellow, putting its opponents to sleep instead of pounding them into the ground. Even now, Andrew could almost hear its soporific song ringing through his head.

_Jiiiiigglypuuuuuff…. Jiiiiigglypuuuuuff…._

Wait.

He _could_ hear the song.

Andrew turned around to see an actual, real-life Jigglypuff, pink and round and sweet, standing in front of him, right in the middle of the carnival.

“Oh, wow,” he whispered. “This is the best game ever. Bravo, Very Smart Phone. Bravo.”

He wondered what this new manifestation meant – if he captured it on the screen, would he capture it in real life? Would he have a real, pink and fluffy Jigglypuff that would sing him to sleep every night? What would he feed it? Oh gosh, but he was getting ahead of himself. He had to catch it first. And since he didn’t have any real-life Poké Balls, the one in the game must be what he needed. With a final reverent look at the Real Life Pokémon before him, he turned his eyes back to his screen, switching over to a Great Ball because he just wouldn’t be able to bear failure, not now.

The song stopped, and there was a strange puffing sound, like a balloon inflating, but Andrew thought nothing of it, because the Jigglypuff was still right there on his screen, and on his third throw he caught it! He watched the ball on the screen wiggle once, twice, and at thrice it gave off the little blast of light that meant _success!_ and Andrew turned tearful eyes to his new best friend.

Whoa.

While Andrew had been looking at the tiny Jigglypuff on the screen, the tiny Jigglypuff in real life had stopped being tiny. All Andrew saw, in fact, was a huge expanse of pink; he craned his neck and looked up to see that the Jigglypuff was immense, the size of a building, and he thought, _That’s not going to fit in my bedroom._

Then the Jigglypuff stepped on him, and he thought no more.

*

Buffy wasn’t in the mood to waste time; as soon as they were both behind the curtain – which shielded a table that had a picked-over array of snack foods – she turned and planted her lips on Spike’s, and he took her by the hips and set her on the table, efficiently sweeping the empty donut boxes and wilted veggies onto the floor as he lay her back.

“Are you trying to make me dust?” he growled, hands frantic on her, and Buffy laughed, reveling in his passion and her own.

“I was trying to make you hot,” she gasped out. “Did it work?”

Spike laughed harshly, sliding a hand down between them and up under her skirt, and she was already so aroused that the sure touch of his fingers nearly made her scream. “Bloody right it worked.”

Buffy grinned and sat up, reaching for his belt buckle. “Let’s just see,” she giggled, yanking at fastenings until his cock was free, hard and glorious; she stroked it a few times, watching his face, and then she fell back on the table and he drove inside her, and god, it was perfect, even though the stone beneath her was cold…

Stone?

Buffy managed to detach a tiny part of her brain from the really, really amazing sex to notice that instead of a cheap laminate folding table, she was now lying on a stone sarcophagus while Spike pumped deliciously in and out of her.

And then she noticed that the sarcophagus was on a stage.

And then she noticed they had an audience.

And then she realized that, even having noticed these things, she couldn’t stop making love to Spike, that without her brain her body was still writhing and her voice was still moaning and Spike, Spike was looking her with eyes filled with horror instead of love, because he couldn’t stop either.

And then, as if that wasn’t bad enough, she heard Principal Snyder’s voice.

“And here we have the crown jewel of our exhibition, the Slayer and the Vampire. These natural enemies have come together here in an unnatural and unholy alliance…”

As Snyder’s voice droned on, Buffy’s eyes flickered around the tent, catching a glimpse of Giles on a stage off to the right, doing Watcherly poses, and Xander and Anya just across the way, doing some kind of acrobatics. She couldn’t see Willow or Tara, but she had a sneaking suspicion they were also trapped.

Trapped in the sideshows.

Snyder’s voice startled her back to the reality of her imminent situation. “The Slayer and Vampire will be performing their act every hour, on the hour, throughout the evening, so do come back and bring your friends! And now, let me give you a play by play of the action…”

Buffy met Spike’s eyes again, resolved. She was going to figure a way out of this. She really was. No matter how much she’d wanted Spike, she hadn’t wanted it to be like this. But she tried running her hands up his back, and she was able to do that, and she tried wrapping her legs around his waist and she was able to do _that,_ and then she tried something else that made his eyes bug out, and then _he_ tried something that made her eyes roll back in her head, and so she got the picture; they couldn’t stop, but they still had… creative license.

She pulled Spike down for a kiss, whispering urgently into his lips. “We’re going to get out of this. We’re not going to be trapped here forever.” He nodded, tenderly pressing his forehead to hers. “But, Spike? If we’re going to be forced to do this? Let’s give them a show they’ll never forget.”

And they did.

Every hour, on the hour.

THE END

 

Would you like to try again? [Go to Chapter 1!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20978552)

[Read the Author’s Notes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20983016)


	77. Chapter 77

The tent the kitten had chosen was immense and tall, the center roped off and ringed by a small crowd of onlookers; an attendant in a striped jacket was taking tickets at the entrance, and Spike rolled his eyes and peeled some off of his diminishing roll as Buffy scanned the crowd for signs of the kitten, following its flashing tail around until the ropes stopped her. It leaped up onto a wooden chest in the restricted area of the tent, smugly grooming itself.

Spike came up beside her, frowning. “Aren’t you going to nab it?”

Buffy glanced around. “Too many people. Think they’ll clear out? We don’t want to get kicked out of the carnival.”

He shrugged. “Next show’s about to start. Fellow says it’s the last of the night, so we could wait it out.” He shifted impatiently, eyeing the kitten.

“What’s the show?”

The lamps lighting the interior of the tent suddenly went out, leaving them in darkness except for four torches set at corners of the roped off area. Slow drum music began, like a sensual heartbeat.

“Fire dancing,” Spike said softly.

There were two dancers, a man and a woman; they came out from opposite ends of the tent, circling the perimeter of the roped off area as if stalking each other. They were each carrying lit torches, and Buffy instinctively stepped in front of Spike, thinking suddenly just how very flammable he was.

Spike laughed, setting his hands on her hips and bringing her back up against him, and oh god, he was hard again, even after what had happened on the log ride, and she couldn’t help but pulse against him, because the dance had started, and _wow._

The dancers were clothed – if barely – and they weren’t doing anything overtly sexual as they spun their torches in mesmerizing patterns, but the theme of the performance was clearly seduction, every movement focused on their partner. They arched and whirled and leaped, changing tools from torch to hoops to flaming pots on long chains, and with each moment they drew closer to each other, until they were nearly intertwined, so close together that Buffy marveled at the fact that they were unburned, and all the while Spike was pulsing his hips against hers, and awareness and arousal licked through her like flames. As the drumbeat intensified, the dancers made contact, wrapping around each other like two flames meeting and joining into a bonfire, and they writhed together with the climax of the music, fire and sweat, and then suddenly every flame in the tent was doused all at once, and Buffy gasped as if released from a spell.

Then the electric lights came on, and the crowd started to filter out.

Buffy spared a glance to make sure the kitten was still there – it seemed to have fallen asleep – before taking Spike by the sleeve and tugging him off to the side, where a draped curtain shielded an array of fire props and shelves of what was probably fuel, from the labels.

“Can’t wait to get me alone?” Spike murmured hotly.

“If we wait until everyone leaves, we can just grab the kitten and go,” Buffy said reasonably, then wound her hands behind his head. “Also, I need your hands on me _right now._ ”

He groaned, or laughed, or something Buffy didn’t really care about defining because then he kissed her, hard, before turning her around and embracing her from behind again, except instead of the subtle, plausibly-deniable pulsing that had wound her up when they were surrounded by other spectators, he slid his hands right up under the damp fabric of her shirt, rubbing his palms hard across her nipples as he ground against her ass, and she ground right back, and what the hell, she caught one of his hands and shoved it down between her legs because she hadn’t been kidding about the _right now_ , she felt ready to pop any second, and Spike delved his hand right inside her underwear, stroking hard and she rocked frantically against him, nearly weeping with desperation until she came with a jolt, sagging against him with her release.

She felt boneless and pliable, like melted wax, and she sank to the floor, pulling Spike down with her, and he muttered an oath into her shoulder, then another into her belly, and then he was swearing steadily into her crotch as he tugged her underwear down to her knees, and then he stopped swearing and started licking and Buffy arched into his tongue, cool and firm and somehow burning, he was burning her up and she opened up to him, hands in his hair, begging him for more, and then the electric lights went out and they were in total darkness.

“Everyone’s gone,” Spike laughed into her, the vibrations rumbling up through her body.

“Don’t you dare stop,” she growled, and he laughed again and didn’t stop, and in the dark Buffy’s world narrowed to nothing but his tongue and hands, his hair disordered under her fingers, and her own voice, gasping and begging and finally keening, until her orgasm swept over her like a brushfire, leaving her charred and spent in its wake.

Spike pressed his cheek into her belly, muttering something that sounded like more of those British swear words, or maybe a prayer, and Buffy tugged at his hair until he came up and snuggled right into her shoulder, and while she couldn’t see him she could kind of tell from the feel of his cheek that he was smiling.

“Should get the kitten,” he said presently, nuzzling into her throat.

“Yeah, we should.”

She held him closer in the dark. Just for a few minutes more.

*

Eventually, though, Buffy started to feel like she had bones again, which made her feel like the ground was a mighty uncomfortable place to be lying with a two-hundred-pound vampire on top of her. The fact that they were surrounded by kerosene was also starting to worry her – Spike really was extra flammable, and she wasn’t too excited about being set on fire herself – and so she nudged Spike into rolling off of her, wriggling back into her panties.

Spike rolled easily to his feet.

“Watch your step,” Buffy cautioned. She still couldn’t see much of anything, just vague shapes.

“Got good night vision,” Spike reassured her. There was a little yelp from the kitten as Spike apparently scooped it up, then a duet of meows as he tucked it into the basket with its friend, and then Spike’s hand was in hers, guiding her up and out from behind the curtain, until they were out in the harsh, loud reality of the carnival. Which was all well and good – it was time to check in with the guys, but Buffy couldn’t help but sigh.

She kind of missed the dark.

 

[GO TO CHAPTER 66](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981075)


	78. Chapter 78

Buffy darted laughing inside the arcade, sneaking the barest peek behind her to make sure Spike was still there. He stalked in after her, eyes smoldering and lips curled in a surly scowl. It took her breath away, even amid the electronic beeps and flashing lights of a few dozen video games, arranged in clusters around snaking tangles of extension cords. She had been teasing him when she licked that cream off her fingertips, but now her fingertips were tingling all on their own and she was starting to think she’d been too clever for her own good, because now she was imagining…

She almost missed the flash of the calico kitten’s tail as it ducked behind a video game, but the little flick of fur reminded her that they had a job to do here. A job that had nothing to do with the interesting licking ideas that were parading across her mind’s eye. She caught Spike’s hand in hers, dragging him along with her.

“It went this way!”

 

Which game did the kitten go behind?

Pac-Man [GO TO CHAPTER 100](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982074)

Mortal Kombat [GO TO CHAPTER 17](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20979389)


	79. Chapter 79

Buffy stared at the _thing_ in her hand.  _Oh god, what the hell was I thinking?_ It looked almost like a corn dog, the fried batter drizzled with a layer of sugary glaze, but… well, either the thing involved a whole lot of batter, or they had literally just inserted a handle into an entire stick of butter and fried it up. She was almost afraid to find out which.

“Buffy!”

She turned to see the last person she had expected to ever see again in Sunnydale – Riley Finn, larger than life, striding across the midway as if the butter had summoned him.

Now, with Spike’s kisses still fresh on her lips, he was the last person she _wanted_ to see.

But he was smiling at her easily, that affable grin she had found so soothingly normal, and she couldn’t help but smile back, even as Spike growled beside her.

“Riley! What are you doing back here?”

He shrugged. “Heard through channels that there was something going down, thought maybe you might need me.”

Buffy looked at Riley for a long moment, not really sure what to say. She couldn’t look at him without remembering how she’d felt, how she’d cried, how she’d run after him to beg him to stay when she’d _needed him_ , back when everything was falling apart, and yeah, she remembered the love, but she also remembered emptiness, and tears, and most of all how when she’d _needed him_ he’d been running around getting his bite on, and then gone, because no matter how much she’d _needed him_ it hadn’t been enough.

“My mom died,” was what she finally said.

He blinked. “Oh, Buffy, I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah,” Buffy said shortly. “Me too.”

She could feel Spike quivering behind her, and what the hell, she was feeling a little pissy; she tucked her arm into Spike’s and tugged him forward.

“Spike and I are on a _date_ ,” she said firmly.

Riley’s eyes narrowed. “Are you?”

“That we are,” Spike chimed in smugly; Buffy elbowed him before he got too deep into the gloating.

There was so much Buffy could say, but as she looked at Riley, she just felt tired, like she’d walked a thousand miles since that day she’d run after him, and… she didn’t want to go back. Not to who she’d been back then, when she’d been desperate to prove that her love was enough. When she’d _needed him_ so much, and he hadn’t been there, even when he’d been right by her side.

She didn’t know where she was going from here, what she wanted or what she needed, but she knew… she knew she didn’t need Riley. Not anymore.

Riley was still looking at her with that cheerful, puppy-dog smile that she had once thought meant he was actually a pretty nice guy, but she was now starting to suspect was a mask. “Just don’t worry about it, Riley. We’ve got everything under control.” She smiled sweetly. “I don’t need you.”

His face shifted ominously for just a moment before sliding back into a smile. “All right, Buffy. I can see this isn’t a good time. I can come by the house later on and we can catch up on things. Sound good?”

It really didn’t, but if Riley couldn’t make the connection between _being on a date_ and _not wanting to talk to your ex_ , then that was his problem. “Whatever.” She glared at the deep-fried butter in her hand, winding up to toss it into the garbage.

Riley caught her arm. “Aren’t you going to eat that?”

Buffy looked at it again, just to make sure. “Nope. Definitely not.” She shook his hand off pointedly.

“Well don’t waste it. Here, give it to me, I’ll eat it. They use real Iowa butter in these, you know. All the best foods come from Iowa.”

“Knock yourself out,” Buffy sighed drily, handing over the heart-attack-on-a-stick. “Look, it’s sweet and all that you came back, but I have this whole carnival thing under control. Enjoy your trip back to the jungle.” She grabbed Spike by the elbow and dragged him back towards the concession stands.

***

Riley watched her go, frowning. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Buffy hadn’t been all that happy to see him. But he supposed he’d been right about her all along; she had some sick obsession with vampires, or she wouldn’t have sunk to dating Spike. It was a shame he was only here for the night, or he’d take her out for dinner, remind her what a man could be like before it was too late.

Ah, well. Her loss. He’d sure dodged a bullet, getting away from her. He started walking back to the carnival helipad. There was always that girl he’d rescued in the jungle; she seemed to appreciate him well enough.

He took a bite of the deep-fried butter, enjoying the crispy exterior and the soft, rich interior, and in his absorption in the nostalgic Iowa flavor, he missed his step and tripped, tumbling over a low fence and into a weird sunken moat. _Great._

He had just heaved himself up on the shore of the ridiculous waterway when he realized he was surrounded.

By lions.

He reached for the taser on his hip, aiming it at the lioness leading the pride, but it fizzled in his hand, fritzed out by the water.

“Buffy?” he whispered frantically, then risked a shout. “Buffy!”

*

The lions closed in, licking their chops. They had been fed plentifully, of course, but here was something fresh and buttery, with plenty of meat for the whole pride to share. And it looked to be a delicious feast indeed.

After all, all the best foods came from Iowa.

***

Buffy was still hungry, but it was really hard to make up her mind what she wanted to eat when there was so much noise behind her.

“God, what is up with the lions?” she groused, glaring back over her shoulder.

Spike shrugged. “Must be feeding time,” he muttered offhandedly. “Now, am I buying you a sweet, or not?”

“Oh, you’re buying, all right,” Buffy retorted. “For some reason I have a really bad taste in my mouth…”

 

What treat does Buffy want?

Deep-Fried Twinkie: [GO TO CHAPTER 140](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982947)

Ice Cream: [GO TO CHAPTER 86](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981753)

Cream Puff: [GO TO CHAPTER 111](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982332)


	80. Chapter 80

Spike peeled off a tenner to pay for the hideously-overpriced vanilla ice cream, making sure Buffy was watching when he stuffed the change in the tip jar, because while he didn’t give a good goddamn about the teen cashier’s well-being, he had learned some time ago that Buffy had Strong Opinions regarding tipping, and Buffy’s good opinion was something he did give a damn about.

And if he were totally honest, ten measly dollars was a small price to pay for the blissful look on Buffy’s face when she took her first taste of the soft-serve, her sweet pink tongue licking at the melting surface. But then he caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye, and sighed, nudging Buffy’s arm.

“There it goes,” he said, pointing towards the carousel.

The calico kitten had leapt onto the slowly turning platform and was seated on one of the bench seats, placidly licking its paw. Spike could see her calculating how to get over the fence when a grating voice froze her in place.

“There will be no line-cutting at my carousel, missy!”

Buffy turned, jaw hanging open in disbelief. “Principal Snyder?” And it _was_ the sodding Principal, looking just as sullen and ratlike as he had been at the Ferris wheel, tugging officiously at his striped carny jacket. Spike vaguely remembered him from that time he’d crashed Buffy’s party at the school, though he’d been less dead then, and of course Spike’d had other priorities.

The little man glared at them, adjusting the trim of his straw boater. “You juvenile delinquents get in line and wait your turn.”

Buffy looked over at the empty line corral. “There is no line.”

“Of course there’s a line. Just because there’s no people waiting doesn’t mean you can just jump over the fence like hippies. You have to follow the proper procedures for getting on the ride…”

Buffy rolled her eyes and dragged Spike to the line opening, where a creepy-looking clown on a sign declared they needed to be THIS TALL to ride the carousel, and back and forth along the path of the line, until finally they were standing in front of Principal Snyder. Up close, he smelled of mothballs and decay.

“Tickets, please,” he said in a viciously bored voice.

Spike peeled two tickets off the roll they had acquired earlier and set them in Snyder’s outstretched hand, which seemed solid enough. He took the tickets and inspected each one suspiciously before unhooking the chain and allowing them in.

Buffy jumped onto the carousel and started winding through the horses towards the kitten’s bench as the ride started moving, calliope music blaring from the speakers. Spike bounded after her, but after they had taken just a few steps, the music cut out and was replaced by Snyder’s sneering voice.

“ _No walking on the carousel platform while the ride is in motion._ ” The aggressively-cheerful music resumed.

Spike took a few more steps to catch up to Buffy. “What’s he going to do, make us write lines?”

Buffy frowned in confusion for a moment, before comprehension clicked. “Oh, like Bart Simpson?” She looked over at Principal Snyder, chewing on her lower lip. “I don’t know,” she said at last. “But I’m not sure I want to find out. There’s obviously something not right here, and until we know what it is…”

Spike rolled his eyes, but he stopped walking, keeping a sharp eye on the kitten – or he tried to, but Buffy chose that moment to take another lick of her melting ice cream, and bugger if Spike was going to miss _that_ show. After she’d taken a few entrancing licks, the music cut out again.

“ _All riders on the carousel must be seated on an animal while the ride is in motion_.”

“Bugger that,” Spike muttered. Dru had loved carousels, and of course he’d indulged her, but generally in the sinister-standing-about way, not astride a sodding wooden animal.

But then Buffy gave him a look, amused and sly. “I dunno. I kind of like the idea of you sitting on a pink pony.” She looked at the Principal as they passed by. “And I really don’t like that smile of his.”

 _Love’s Bitch rides again_ , Spike thought sourly, and set his basket on the wooden platform. Naturally, the animal beside him was a bubble-gum pink unicorn, but… the lady wanted a pink pony; a pink pony she would bloody well get. He stuck his combat-booted foot in the shiny stirrup and mounted, resting his hands on his thighs once he’d settled into the carved wooden saddle. His fingers twitched with annoyance as the sparkly pink beast moved up and down. “Saddle up, Slayer,” he muttered, because bugger if he was doing this alone.

Buffy favored him with a brilliant smile – god, just that made riding the bloody pony worthwhile – and slipped astride her own horse, glittering lavender with blue roses in its carved curls of mane. Spike was suddenly reminded of his human days, ladies riding sidesaddle to protect their decency, because Buffy’s skirt was draped so high on her thighs he could almost see her panties, and that made him think about how the only thing separating her and the saddle was said panties, and as the horse moved jerkily up and down he nearly groaned at the images it was all putting his head, not one of which could remotely be called decent.

And then Buffy cast him another sidelong glance and resumed eating her ice cream.

Spike couldn’t look away.

After a few more licks, Buffy cast him a shrewd glance. “Shouldn’t you be keeping an eye on our fugitive?”

“Kitten’s not going anywhere,” Spike shrugged, twisting so he could rest his elbow on his pink unicorn’s head. “Rather watch you eat.”

“Really?” Buffy gave another long lick of her ice cream cone. “Is that what you’d rather be doing?”

“It’s not _all_ I’d rather be doing,” Spike said truthfully.

Buffy looked at him directly then, and god, she was smiling like she knew exactly what he was thinking, all his lewd fantasies of her riding him, and she wanted them as much as he did. But she just fixed him with her gorgeous green eyes and kept eating her ice cream, rising and falling slowly beside him, until the ride slowed and came to a stop.

Spike loved every moment.

“ _All riders must now exit the ride promptly. If you wish to ride again, you must first wait in line._ ” There was a pause, then a grudging. “ _Have a nice day._ ”

Buffy slid off her horse in Spike’s direction and he lunged in hers, and her lips were bare inches away when he caught a flicker of motion out of the corner of his eye. The kitten! It had leaped off the carousel platform and was frolicking after a butterfly.

Buffy grabbed Spike by the lapel of his duster and gave a yank. “It’s getting away!” And she wended her way through the forest of wooden animals, leaving Spike behind.

He growled at her. “Bloody hell, Slayer…” He snatched up his basket.

She sent him a teasing glance over her shoulder as she leaped off the platform. “You coming, Spike?” And oh, her voice was like a siren’s song, and Spike could do nothing but follow her.

Fortunately, instead of luring him to his death on rocky shoals, she chased the kitten into a nearby wooden shed with an “Employees Only” sign on the door. Spike raced after her, barely having a moment to take in the interior before the door slammed behind him, Buffy standing there with her hand on the door, a triumphant smile on her face.

“There,” she said briskly. “Now we have the kitten trapped.”

Spike glared around the shed interior, which was stuffed with push brooms and cleaning supplies. “Do you see it?”

Buffy shrugged, leaning casually against the door. “It’s somewhere in here,” she said negligently. “We have it trapped, so we can catch it at our leisure.” She took another casual lick of her half-gone ice cream cone. “Just let me finish this up, okay?”

Spike folded his arms. “All right then.” He rolled his shoulders, bracing himself for another ten minutes of bloody Ice Cream Torture.

And then she smiled like sin, and held out the cone to him. “Want a taste?”

 

Does Spike want a taste?

Yes: [GO TO CHAPTER 31](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20979887)

No thanks: [GO TO CHAPTER 88](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981789)


	81. Chapter 81

Unfortunately, the calico kitten seemed to have abandoned the Cliffhanger, and after several minutes of fruitless searching, Buffy and Spike found themselves standing in the middle of the games concourse.

Spike looked around, stuffing his hands in his duster pockets. “Could win you a thingamabob. Traditional, isn’t it?”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “I thought you were trying to impress me. I’m not exactly the type to ooh and aah over knocking down bottles or throwing ping-ping balls into goldfish bowls.”

Spike lifted his eyebrows. “And just what _do_ you ooh and aah over, pet?”

She immediately thought of a whole bunch of things Spike could do to make her ooh and aah, and her face turned a little red. “All I’m saying is, if I want a cheap purple teddy bear, I can win my own.”

“That you could,” Spike agreed, then grinned wickedly. “Hell, if you’re feeling all girl-power, _you_ could win _me_ a thingamabob.”

Buffy laughed. “Maybe I will.”

“ _You!_ ”

Buffy spun around at the shout, which had come from a wiry little man in a striped jacket – apparently the uniform for evil carnival barkers. He was glaring at her poisonously, like she’d kicked his puppy or something.

Spike squinted past her. “Doc?”

The little man ignored Spike. “You’re the Slayer. It’s your fault…” Suddenly his face crumpled into tears. He looked so sad and pathetic and old that Buffy felt an instinctive need to comfort him, until he glared up at her through his tears again, and his eyes were gleaming black. “You’re responsible for the ending of the Great Glorificus.”

“Oh, um, Glory?” Buffy glanced at Spike briefly. “Yeah. Sorry about that.” She tried very hard to make her voice sound actually sorry, but she was pretty sure she didn’t succeed. Kinda hard to regret the death of an evil bitch hellgod who’d been brain-sucking people left and right and specifically targeting her sister.

But Doc was back to mournful tears. “I was all set up with a job in her infernal court,” he said. “But now business is so bad I had to get a part-time job just to afford rent. It was this or being a greeter at Walmart.” He shuddered.

“Yeah.” Buffy looked at Spike, who was engrossed in something just past Doc’s shoulder; Buffy craned her neck and saw a display of small plushies on carabiner clips, weird little monsters or creatures, dozens of different ones just hanging from a display.

He caught her glance and jerked his chin at the display. “Win me one o’ those, love?” His voice was both cajoling and teasing.

Buffy looked up at the sign over the tearful old man’s head. TEST YOUR STRENGTH! was written in huge red letters, as if exploding. Next to it, a thermometer-like pole rose ten feet in the air, marked along its length with judgments ranging from BABY to SUPERMAN.

“Excuse me,” the old man sniffled. “Didn’t mean to neglect my job.” His voice changed, becoming bright and enthusiastic. “Step right up! Test your strength! Find out if you’re a man or a boy!” He swished his striped cane around dramatically, as if he were the Master of Ceremonies at the creepiest cabaret ever.

Spike waggled his eyebrows at Buffy. “Oh yes, do let’s find out if you’re a man!”

She flexed her hands dramatically. “Man enough to kick _your_ behind,” she grinned, holding out her hand to the creepy barker for the mallet. Spike peeled off a number of tickets from his roll, stepping to one side to watch, eyes glittering avidly.

“Oh,” Doc said in a regretful voice. “You’re the Slayer, so… I’m afraid you need to have a bit of a handicap.” He reached behind the prize display and fiddled with something. Immediately the thermometer shot up, growing and growing until the bell at the top was a good twenty-five feet in the air. “In the interest of fairness, you understand.”

Buffy glared at the little creep, noticing suddenly the rat-like tail coming from beneath his jacket. “Oh yes. Totally fair.” She quickly assessed the game. “How high do I have to get the thingie to win a prize?”

“It’s a puck,” Doc said solicitously. “And it’s not easy. You have to ring the bell. Although if you make it halfway, I am prepared to offer you this very stylish eraser as a consolation prize…”

“Gosh,” Buffy said, batting her eyes. “That does seem hard.” And she swung the mallet over her head and smashed it down with all her strength.

The puck flew upwards like a cannonball, crashing right into the bell; with a resounding peal, the top of the game exploded, splinters of wood falling down like rain while the bell itself, dented and misshapen, landed on the ground at Buffy’s feet, still vibrating.

“Pick out your prize, Spike,” she said loftily.

Doc barely even seemed fazed, reaching behind him and taking one of the little plushies off the rack. “This must be the one you want.” He held out a little yellow mouse thing that looked kind of familiar to Buffy. His grin managed to be both charming and vaguely disturbing at the same time.

Spike ignored the offer, decisively pointing at a lumpy oyster-looking thing with a silly cartoon glare stitched onto the black pearl inside. “That one.”

Doc blinked. “Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer this one? It’s our most popular.”

Spike glared at him. “Yeah. I bet it is. Also most likely to be cursed.” He reached out and took the one he’d requested. “This little bugger’ll do me fine.”

Doc’s eyes narrowed dangerously for a moment before he gave a determinedly affable grin. “Well, perhaps your girlfriend would like to play again? Win you the whole set?” He gestured at the game, which was suddenly pristine and whole again.

“I’m thinking not,” Buffy grinned, taking Spike by the elbow. “My date and I have a prior engagement with something fattening and bad for me. In a non-cursey kind of way.”

Spike gave the little old man a jaunty salute as they left.

“So,” Buffy said as they walked away, Spike clipping the little stuffie onto his basket. “A clam.”

“Cloyster,” Spike corrected automatically, then rolled his eyes. “Little fellow’s a badass. Shoots spikes and all.” He gave the little toy a spin. “Got a Spike Cannon even.”

Buffy nodded as if she had a clue what he was talking about, but then Spike took her by the hand and pulled her into an alcove behind the goldfish-bowl game, setting her up against the wooden wall.

“Thank you for winning me a prezzie,” he purred, eyes heavy-lidded. He was quivering with energy.

Buffy grinned up at him. “Well, I hear it’s the traditional thing to do on a carnival date.”

He set his hands flat against the wall on either side of her waist. “Love watching you break things,” he muttered. “It’s bloody hot.”

She looked at him askance. “Breaking things is sexy?”

“Damn sexy,” he confirmed. “All that danger… power…” He groaned and kissed her, hard, and she snaked her arms up around his neck and met his passion with her own. How many times had they kissed so far tonight? She vaguely tried to count in her head, but then gave it up, because in the end there was only one possible answer: not enough.

It wasn’t enough.

*

Anya cuddled into Xander as they strolled through the romantic lights of the carnival.

“How are you feeling, sweetie?” she asked solicitously.

He grunted vaguely in response, but Anya was fluent in all the Xander sounds, and easily interpreted it as meaning _“Quite well, my beloved darling, as long as you are by my side.”_  

“That’s nice,” she said happily. “You know, I thought Buffy was just going to get us in unnecessary danger, bringing us with to this place, but I’m having a wonderful time. Aren’t you?”

Another grunt _. “Blissful indeed, my adorable sex kitten.”_

Anya hugged him tighter. “Are you well enough to go on another ride? Because the carnival isn’t staying forever, Buffy’s going to slay it.”

Grunt. _“Whatever you wish, my precious love.”_

Not-talking Xander was such a sweet-talker. “Okay, let’s do that one next!” Anya bubbled.

Xander whimpered joyfully as Anya tugged him towards the Tilt-a-Whirl.

*

Andrew ducked behind the Tilt-a-Whirl ticket booth, watching through narrowed eyes as Warren and Jonathan walked past. Normally, he would be keen to share his exciting new adventure with the only friends he had managed to find since Sunnydale High, but Future Andrew had been very clear.

Warren and Jonathan were lame.

But he didn’t need them anyhow. He already had managed to capture dozens of Pokémon – even a couple that’d had red circles – and he was well on his way to Pokémon Mastery.

He didn’t need Warren or Jonathan.

He didn’t need them at all.

He looked at his screen, at the lone Andrew mirrored there.

Well, maybe he’d show them later, if he got tired of being alone.

*

Giles glared impotently at his little notebook. He had intended to take down his observations about the evil pub and its evil deep-fryer, but the oil on his glasses was making it difficult for him to focus and… well, there was no getting around it, he had to deal with the bitter truth that he, Ripper, now wore bifocals, and thus could not write in his own notebook without his glasses, unless he placed the page three inches from his nose, at which point the fountain pens he preferred would not write properly. Pencil would do in a pinch, but smudged far too easily for permanent records.

Was it too much to ask to be allowed to be mature and yet to possess a young body?

Grumbling, he tucked his book away again. He might as well investigate the surroundings further. He had a mind like a steel trap; surely he could remember his observations until he was able to record them.

And perhaps he would be able to find a booth with napkins.

Three booths later, he had given up hope of finding anything with which he could clean his glasses. The funnel cake had proven innocent. The ice cream was innocuous. And the deep-fried Twinkies were… Well. They were deep-fried Twinkies, which was appalling in the extreme, but they seemed to be free of demonic influence, other than the usual Hostess aura.

He had grave doubts about the candy floss, however.

He leaned in close, peering at the machine as it spun at high speed. “And you’re quite certain the ingredients used in this dessert are merely sugar, food coloring, and natural flavorings?” he inquired in a businesslike fashion.

The teen girl operating the machine shrugged. “Basically. Though I think we might use FD&C Red Number Forty. I think that might be evil?”

Giles leaned in a little closer, and at that very moment the machine gave a little extra spurt of energy, spraying filaments of candy floss across his glasses.

“Ah, yes,” he said wryly. “Evil indeed.”

*

Willow laced her fingers into Tara’s as they walked along the games concourse. They had dutifully checked out the area of the Ferris wheel for the black kitten, but there had been no sign of it, and it seemed silly to spend the whole half hour searching the same tent flaps over and over, when there was a whole carnival to explore. So here she was with her sweetie taking in all the sights, the flashing lights and the cheery music and all the people having fun…

 _Holy Toledo!_ Willow quickly averted her eyes from the couple making out behind the goldfish-bowl game.

Tara glanced behind them, curious. “Wow. Was that Spike?”

Willow shrugged casually. “Sure looked like it. He’s got the hair, and the coat…”

“Kissing Buffy.” Tara’s eyes were gleaming.

Willow waved a hand dismissively. “Nah, I’m sure it was just some punk girl he picked up…” She sighed in resignation. “Yeah, that was Buffy. I recognized the boots.” It had been hard to miss the boots, with her leg all hiked up like that.

Tara squeezed her hand. “You know what this means, right?”

Willow turned a mock-scowl on her girlfriend. “Fine! You have officially won the bet. I owe you a Coke, or a similar prize of equivalent value of your choice.”

Tara beamed brilliantly, swinging their joined hands, and Willow couldn’t help but laugh.

It had been a good month before tonight that Tara had casually mentioned to Willow that she thought there might be something going on between Buffy and Spike – something about how their auras were changing color, or a red thread joining them, or something else that Tara could see and Willow couldn’t – and of course Willow had scoffed at the very idea, because anyone could see that Buffy and Spike were just hanging around together because the rest of the Scoobies were all couple-y and so the two lone wolves were just lone-wolfing together by default. But Tara had insisted, and Willow thought Tara was even more beautiful when she was confident, and so they’d shaken on the bet, Willow sure that she was going to win, because even though everyone knew Spike was infatuated with Buffy, there was no way _Buffy_ would ever go for _Spike_ , not in a million years.

But then… she’d started noticing, too.

Nothing big, of course – Buffy certainly hadn’t been gushing to Willow about Spike the way she had about all her previous boyfriends – but little tiny things. The way Buffy watched Spike when he wasn’t looking, little bemused glances, all the stranger because they were so brief. How Buffy danced a little sexier when Spike was around. The growing preponderance of red in Buffy’s wardrobe. The sentence-finishing when they were discussing patrol – and the fact that they were patrolling together in the first place. Touches – nothing that would qualify as a caress, of course, but little casual contacts that were made non-casual by the way Buffy and Spike studiously tried too hard to be casual, _not looking_ at each other with such determination that it was more telling than if they’d been making moon-eyes.

And once Willow started noticing, she couldn’t very well stop, especially with Tara _also_ noticing, and occasionally giving her a significant look or hand squeeze. One memorable Scooby meeting, Willow had started a couple of sets of tally-marks in her notebook, one for Buffy and one for Spike, making a mark every time there was a touch or a look or a shared joke, and at the end of the night, looking at her tally, she had known for sure.

Eventually, she was going to owe Tara a Coke.

And given what she’d seen just now, the hiked-up leg and the wandering hands and the way Buffy and Spike had been kissing, like they were literally incapable of stopping… _eventually_ had definitely come to call.

But all of this was, if she were perfectly honest, less important than Tara’s warm hand in hers, and the way Tara was looking around at the midway games, as if she’d never seen them before.

Wait.

“Tara, is this your first time at a carnival?”

She flushed in response. “Well, no, not really, but… my father didn’t really approve of the games. He thought they were run by swindlers.”

Willow grinned. “Oh, they _are_ run by swindlers. But you can still have fun.” She gestured at the goldfish bowl game. “For example, did you know I spent hours of my youth perfecting my ping-pong ball throwing technique? I won a goldfish at the county fair every year for five years in a row.”

“So you had five goldfish?”

“Well, no,” Willow said sheepishly. “Just one at a time. They, um, usually didn’t live very long after. That’s where the swindle came in.”

Tara looked up at the prizes. “They have stuffed goldfish here. Those won’t die.”

Willow nodded sagely. “This is true. But those big prizes up there? You only win them if you play the game, like, a hundred times. The actual prize you win for one go through is a lot smaller. That’s the other part of the swindle.”

“Oh.”

Willow took both of Tara’s hands in hers. “But I bet I can still do it.” She smiled, feeling her joy bubble out. “Whaddya say? Want me to win you a crappy little prize?”

Tara grinned slyly. “Do I get to kiss you behind the booth after?”

“Only if you want to,” Willow reassured her, then frowned. “And if Spike and Buffy are gone, because otherwise that would be kinda awkward.”

Willow handed the teen working the game some tickets – she thought she remembered him from English class, but she had to be mistaken, because she was sure Jared had been killed at Graduation – and accepted her five ping-pong balls.

“Now, watch the master.”

The first two balls lobbed easily into bowls. The third she put a little too much power into and it ricocheted off the rim. The fourth she overcompensated; it fell just barely short of the table of bowls.

“Three in to win,” not-Jared said in a bored tone of voice.

Willow narrowed her eyes, aiming. She knew she could call on the magicks, a little hint of breeze to get the ball just where she wanted, but… she and Tara had been working on this. Not just how to use the magic, but when to use the magic, and while Willow sometimes disagreed with Tara, this she knew for certain: Tara wouldn’t be happy with magical cheating.

And Willow liked Tara happy.

She aimed and tossed the last ball, and it plopped right into the center bowl, and probably-not-Jared pulled out the inevitable tray of first-round prizes from its hiding place under the counter, absently suggesting that they use more tickets and try for a bigger prize.

Tara pondered the selection carefully before choosing a little gummy-plastic goldfish keychain, but the way she looked up at Willow after made her feel like the Queen of the Midway, and even though Buffy and Spike were still at it when they went past their alcove – Willow murmured a little “you go, girl!” as they passed – they were able to find another private little corner for a smidgen of smoocharama.

It was magic.

*

“Was that Willow I just heard?” Buffy said into Spike’s lips, looking around. They were still all alone, though, and Spike just hiked her leg a little higher, his hand nestling comfortably into the little dent where her thigh met her butt, fingers just shy of the edge of her panties, while he planted sweet little kisses down her throat.

“Must be your imagination,” Spike murmured absently, bringing a hint of teeth into play.

But the moment was broken for Buffy, and she extricated herself from Spike’s grip, tugging her clothing back into place. “I thought we were going to start this date with a snack,” she muttered, a little petulant because… well, it wasn’t really any of Willow’s business, but that didn’t mean she wanted her _watching_ them.

Spike sighed, but stood up straight, tugging his duster back into place. “All right then.”

He seemed a little pouty, and, well, Buffy felt a little pouty, so she tucked her hand into his as they strolled towards the various food carts, winding her fingers and her arm with his and rubbing her cheek against his shoulder.

It was nice.

“So, what’s your pleasure?” Spike said, just a hint of innuendo in his voice.

Buffy took a deep breath, resisting the suggestion for the moment, and chose…

 

What treat does Buffy want?

Deep-Fried Twinkie: [GO TO CHAPTER 21](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20979527)

Cream Puff: [GO TO CHAPTER 57](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20980865)

Ice Cream: [GO TO CHAPTER 104](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982146)

Deep-Fried Butter: [GO TO CHAPTER 124](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982548)


	82. Chapter 82

The zebra enclosure had a high fence, but Buffy didn’t even pause before vaulting over, landing lightly on the packed dirt. Spike leapt after her, leaving his basket behind. The two or three zebras wandering the area glanced up disinterestedly before returning to grazing on the ample hay.

The tent was small; now that they were right up on it, it didn’t seem big enough to hold more than two zebras, and then only if they were very, very friendly.

Buffy shook out her hands, wiggling her fingers in preparation. “All right. The kitten doesn’t have anywhere to go. You get the tent flap, I’ll get the kitten, and we’ll hit the road.”

“Righty-ho.” Spike pulled open the flap of the tent and saw…

Stars.

Instead of the interior of a tent, the tent flap opened on a cool night scene, tall grasses and scrubby trees and mounded rocks shading a smooth pond that reflected the moon and stars. A breeze redolent of musky animals and green growing things teased at the canvas flap, sending ripples along the surface of the water, and he felt his jaw drop open.

“Bloody hell,” he whispered.

“Oh.” Buffy’s voice was soft and awed, and she started to step forward onto the grassy savanna.

“Wait,” Spike said, but it was too late, she was already out knee-deep in grass, turning in a slow circle.

“Look at all the stars,” she said, eyes shining in the moonlight, and Spike threw caution to the wind and stepped out with her. He glanced behind him and saw the outside of a tent just like the one they had just entered, staked out in a little clearing.

“I’m looking,” he agreed, but he was only looking at her – he’d seen skies like this in his travels, unmuted by the lights of industrial cities, but he’d never seen anything like Buffy looking at a sky like this.

Now that he was out in the silent wilderness, he realized he could hear… hoofbeats. Hundreds of hoofbeats, pounding like thunder on the ground, and he took Buffy by the arms and dragged her towards the rocks.

“What are you doing?” she grumbled.

“Just get up there, Slayer,” he growled, and she climbed up on the rocks just as a huge herd of zebras came thundering past the pond, parting like the Red Sea around their island rock.

Spike had just enough time to swear bitterly before he fell before the pounding hooves.

*

When the herd had passed, Buffy climbed down from the rock, shaken. She had seen Spike go down beneath the zebras, and she wouldn’t be surprised if he were dust and gone. She felt sick.

But no, there he was, battered and bruised, clothing tattered, curled helplessly into a tiny hollow in the rock. He was unconscious, and as she gathered him up she could tell he had broken bones beneath some of the contusions that purpled his skin.

“Oh god,” she whispered, hugging him tight for a moment, before standing, resolute. She saw the stupid Siamese kitten scampering into the out tent, but she didn’t care about that any more.

Chin high, she exited the tent, making her way out of the menagerie and to the entrance. She would get Giles to drive her home, get Spike settled in a comfy bed where she could nurse him back to health. She was going to make him all better.

And the stupid evil carnival could screw itself.

She left it all behind.

THE END

 

Would you like to try again? [Go to Chapter 1!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20978552)

[Read the Author’s Notes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20983016)


	83. Chapter 83

A little hot funnel-cake with extra powdered sugar seemed like absolute heaven, and Buffy felt like a kid again as she watched the concession worker drizzling the batter into the hot oil, where it fused and puffed and crisped up into one of her favorite treats ever.

“I used to get these when I was little,” she told Spike as she accepted the hot pastry. “Not at the fair, but in Los Angeles you can get stuff like this down at the pier.”

He smiled, eyes soft. “Well, happy to be of service.” He peered closely at it. “Never had one, myself.”

“Really?” Buffy shrugged. “Well, I _might_ be willing to share. Now, do you see our fugitive?”

Spike scanned the area, head snapping to the left. “There!”

Buffy followed the direction of his gaze just in time to see the Siamese kitten vanishing into a huge tunnel opening, festooned with roses and orchids and crowned with a sparkly red sign.

She rolled her eyes. “Seriously? They have a Tunnel of Love?”

Spike nipped a little piece of funnel cake out of her carton. “Fancy a ride?”

“Nah, they probably have a service entrance or…” Buffy trailed off, because oh god, the look on Spike’s face as he tasted the funnel cake – for the first time, she realized – was exactly the sort of look she thought he’d make when he… “Sure. Let’s go for a ride.” She felt faint.

Spike licked the powdered sugar off his fingers with relish. “All right then.”

The line was practically nonexistent, admissions manned by a short, balding man in a red-and-white striped jacket and a flat straw boater hat. He looked weirdly familiar to Buffy, and when they reached the front of the line, she gasped.

“Principal Snyder?”

Snyder’s eyes flickered between her and Spike. “Miss Summers. Should have known a delinquent like you would show up at a ride like this with a no-good punk boyfriend.”

“He’s not my…” She felt her face turning red, and changed the subject. “Didn’t the Mayor eat you?” She glanced at Spike, who was blissfully eating another piece of funnel cake – god, that expression on his face should be illegal! “I _knew_ this carnival was evil!”

Snyder gave her a poisonous glare, then held out his hand. “Tickets, please.”

Buffy blinked. “We don’t have any tickets.”

With a malicious grin, Snyder opened a little gate that shunted them out of the line corral. “I’m afraid you can’t get on the ride without tickets. There’s a booth over there. Go purchase some, and then once you’ve done that, go back to the _end_ of the line and wait your turn.” He swept her with a scornful glance. “Unless your boyfriend realizes the incredible mistake he’s making, being seen with you.”

“He’s not my…” Buffy stopped short, sighing. “Fine.” She glared at Spike, who was savoring yet another bit of funnel cake. He had a bit of powdered sugar on his chin, and he looked like sin personified, and… and she was damn well going to get him on one of those boats.

She wasn’t even sure she cared if they caught the kitten.

She grabbed Spike’s sleeve. “Come on. You’re buying.”

*

Willow knew this was a serious mission – head-chomping on the line and all – but it was hard to stay serious when you were chasing a black kitten through a happy fun (maybe evil) carnival, holding hands with the woman you loved. She couldn’t keep from laughing, and when she looked over at Tara and saw her eyes shining… well, it wasn’t so long ago that she’d feared she’d lost her sweet lover for good, and every so often she’d think what a miracle it was, that they’d all come through all right after all.

Tara’s laughing face was always a miracle.

They’d had some serious heart-to-hearts after Glory and the Knights of Byzantium had been taken care of, and Willow felt like they’d come out the other side stronger, both in magic and in love. She’d gone to a dark place when she’d lost Tara, dark enough that the memory made her feel kinda sick, but Tara had helped her shine a little light in the corners of her magic, sweep out some of the cobwebs in her soul, and while she could still feel the darkness creeping around in her shadows, she felt… more secure somehow. Like the lightbulb that was Tara wouldn’t ever quite go out again, leaving her alone in the dark.

They stumbled to a gasping halt after a few minutes, giggling.

“Did you see where it went?” Tara gasped, breathless.

“There!” Willow pointed to the Ferris wheel, where the kitten had leapt onto a seat, smugly grooming itself.

Tara squeezed her hand, giving her that sidelong look Willow loved so much, the one full of promise, seductive and shy at the same time. “I think it may be our civic duty to go after it.”

Willow grinned back. “I think you’re right.”

They bought a roll of tickets from a nearby booth and went through the mostly-empty line; by the time they got to the boarding platform, the kitten’s carriage was halfway around.

“We’ll just catch it when we get off,” Willow said to Tara’s questioning shrug. “In the meantime, we can keep an eye on it from here.” She slid onto the seat and patted the space beside her. Tara smiled back, shy and wicked and beautiful, and snuggled in beside her.

The ride attendant settled the safety bar into place, and they were off, the air whooshing in their hair. They went around and around and around, and on the third circuit, the kitten leaped off the ride and took off for parts unknown.

“Well, that went well,” Willow laughed.

Tara shrugged. “Can’t get off now. We’ll just have to endure the torment of riding on the Ferris wheel a little longer.” She nudged Willow with her hip. “And I believe tradition requires that we kiss at the top.”

“Oh, no!” Willow gasped in horror. “Not… not kissing!”

Tara nodded solemnly. “It’s tradition.”

And then neither of them could keep a straight face anymore; they dissolved into giggles, which melted into hugs. Tara burst into a quick chorus of that song from Fiddler on the Roof, singing in a fakey bass voice that set Willow off into more giggles, and then, oh then they _were_ stopped at the top of the Ferris wheel, and then Tara was laughing into Willow’s lips, and then neither of them was laughing anymore, but they were still filled with joy as they kissed and kissed, even after the wheel started moving again.

It felt like flying.

*

Anya lost track of the calico kitten almost immediately, but she really didn’t care. Over a thousand years of existence, she had seen carnivals evolve from spare gatherings of wandering merchants with maybe a lame puppet show, to the glitzy laser-light-show extravaganza that was modern Barnum and Bailey’s, and in all that time, there was one thing she’d never done.

She’d never been to a carnival with a _date_.

“We have to do it all,” she told Xander excitedly. “We have to go on the rides, and you have to hold my hand, and we’ll scream and put our hands in the air, and I’ll pretend to be scared even though I’m really not, just so I can hug you, and we can kiss at the top of the Ferris wheel and sing “You’re The One That I Want” in the Funhouse and you can win me a big stuffed animal and…”

She kept on, listing all the things she wanted to do – over a thousand years she’d built up a good list, though she supposed she would have to go without the bear-baiting at this point – as Xander resignedly paid for a roll of ride tickets, shaking his head.

Then she saw it. The ride she’d been dreaming of.

The Cliffhanger.

“Oooh!” she squealed, wrapping her arms around her honey. “This one first! This one!” She didn’t give him a chance to protest, dragging him over to where a beefy-looking guy was taking tickets.

“No food on the ride,” the attendant said in a bored tone of voice, indicating the last cupcake, still clutched in Xander’s hand. Anya rolled her eyes, unwrapped it, and stuffed it in Xander’s mouth before he could argue.

“ _Now_ can we get on the…” Something about the big guy’s voice tickled her memory, and she squinted up at his face. “Dimitri?”

He started, looking at her more closely. “Anyanka?”

Xander’s eyes bugged out, muffled noises coming from around the cupcake.

Anya smiled at him reassuringly, being quite fluent by now in Xander-Talking-With-His-Mouth-Full. “Don’t worry, sweetie, he’s not an ex-boyfriend of mine. We just went on a couple of dates, back in Leningrad…. No, wait, it was still Saint Petersburg back then.”

“Not for long, it wasn’t,” Dimitri said in a suggestive voice. Mmmm, that Russian accent of his still got her going.

Xander whimpered through the crumbs.

Anya looked Dimitri up and down. “You’re looking good.” How had he managed to keep all that muscle tone for almost a century? It wasn’t fair, especially since she’d only gotten two – admittedly hot – dates out of him before he’d thrown her over for Hallie. Or… had she dumped him for Vladimir? She couldn’t quite remember. There had been so many attractive demons at the Revolution…

He looked down his nose at her, eyes glowing reddish. “You’re looking… human.”

Anya waved her hand in dismissal. “Long story.”

Dimitri cast Xander a narrow glance. “And who is this?”

Anya clutched Xander’s arm happily. “This is my boyfriend, Xander! Xander, meet Dimitri.”

Xander mumbled something through the cupcake. He’d really slowed down at the tail end of the box – the first few he’d snarfed down in a matter of seconds. Ah well. He was still her cuddly eating champion.

Dimitri looked at them for a long moment, then took the tickets Anya was eagerly holding out, unclipping the chain to let them in.

“Enjoy the ride,” he said, his accent making it sound all deep and sinister. Anya got a little shiver. She wouldn’t trade her Xander in for a thousand Dimitris, but _mmmmm_ , that voice.

They took their places against the wall of the round room. They were the first ones in, and Anya waited expectantly for the room to fill up, but the door shut firmly as soon as they were in place, and the room began to spin.

Oh, it was just as exhilarating as she’d imagined! Spinning around and around and around, faster and faster and faster, centrifugal force pressing them into the wall. Anya managed to work her hand over to Xander’s to hold it; he clutched harder than she’d been expecting, so it wasn’t quite as romantic as she had hoped, but then the floor dropped and she laughed and laughed because they were stuck to the wall! They were stuck to the wall and there was nothing under their feet and… wow, they sure were spinning fast. Were they supposed to be going this fast? And wasn’t the ride supposed to be over by now? But whatever, Anya was having too much fun to complain, spinning around with her sweetie on the Best Ride Ever.

Eventually, though, the spinning began to slow, and the floor rose up to meet them as they started to slide down. Dimitri’s voice came over the loudspeaker telling them to remain in position until the ride had come to a full and complete stop.

“Oh, that was wonderful!” Anya gushed as the spinning slowed to a crawl. “Wasn’t it the most amazing thing ever, Xander? …Xander?”

He just clutched her hand harder.

When the ride finally stopped and the door popped open, Xander half-staggered, half-ran to the door, stumbling down the stairs and right over to a trash can, into which he vomited…. Ew. It looked like the whole box of cupcakes. Anya rushed to his side, rubbing his back consolingly.

“Thank you for riding the Cliffhanger,” Dimitri said behind them, voice dripping with satisfaction.

Xander stopped heaving eventually, and Anya fetched a few napkins from a nearby concession stand so he could clean up. “Feeling better?” she asked solicitously. This was one of the best things about being a girlfriend, having someone to pamper.

He nodded queasily.

“Okay then.” Anya clapped him bracingly on the back. “Ferris wheel next!”

She made sure to detour by a stand where they sold drinks and fished out a few dollars from Xander’s pocket to buy him a nice big Coke, to rinse the vomit out of his mouth. No use going on the Ferris wheel if his lips weren’t kissable.

Anya had it all planned out.

*

One overpriced roll of tickets later, Buffy and Spike were back at the front of the line. Snyder accepted their tickets gingerly, as if they were covered in mud, then with a look of supreme disgust on his face gestured to the froufy pink-and-red boat lined up at the dock.

As they seated themselves, he gave them a final poisonous glare. “Remember, PDA is forbidden on this ride.”

Buffy glared up at him. “The whole point of this entire ride is public displays of affection.” Spike gave her a long look, then slung his arm across the back of the seat, glancing nonchalantly away. As if Buffy would be fooled by a fakey-casual act that had been old before she was born. She grabbed his hand and tugged it right down onto her shoulder, daring Snyder to complain.

Snyder’s nostrils flared in futile rage. “Not on my watch,” he muttered, but set their boat loose anyhow. It started to drift along the long, sheltered approach to the tunnel itself.

Buffy sighed in frustration, then turned to Spike. “Here,” she said, feeling her voice hitch. “Have some more funnel cake.” She held up a piece, her hand trembling.

He took it delicately between his teeth, bemused. “Supposed to be your treat.”

“It is,” she said softly, and the next piece of funnel cake she fed him, she brushed her fingertips across his lips before withdrawing, and ah, he was getting the picture, she could tell by the way his eyes narrowed, the telltale tic in his jaw.

She held out another piece, and he caught it on his tongue, catching her finger at the same time, sucking it into his mouth, and she gasped, shifting closer to him on the waterproof cushion. His hand on her shoulder tightened, and oh his face, he had funnel-cake face, except it was her fingers he was savoring, it was Buffy putting that look on his face. She fed him another piece, and another, and as their boat drifted into the darkness of the tunnel, she set the nearly-empty carton aside and oozed onto his lap.

“You have powdered sugar on your chin,” she whispered, and she licked it off, gliding her tongue right up to catch the little bits still clinging to his lips as well, and hey! She was already there so she slid her tongue right on into his eager mouth, kissing him deeply and lazily, hooking her wrists behind his neck and shifting until she was straddling him, and she couldn’t see his face but if it looked anything like she felt right this second it had to be the most gorgeous thing ever.

_Meow!_

“Kitten,” Spike murmured into her lips.

“Too late,” Buffy murmured back, getting back to what was really important, his lips and his tongue and his teeth, sweet and cool and slightly sticky, and Spike didn’t protest, sliding one hand down to the small of her back and pressing her closer.

Buffy was just starting to wonder if they had time for something more than kissing when the sounds of the carnival grew louder, and she reluctantly disentangled herself from Spike’s arms and lips, sliding back to her own seat so when they exited into the evening air they were once again side by side, looking straight ahead.

Not that anyone in the universe harbored any illusions about what usually went on in the Tunnel of Love, but it was always good to have plausible deniability. Especially when one’s former principal – or at least his ghost – was waiting at the dock, eyes glacially suspicious.

“Any of that funnel cake left?” she gasped as they rounded the final curve.

He fed it to her.

It tasted like heaven.

*

Andrew glanced up briefly at the smooching couple as they passed – hadn’t they gone through before? – before returning his attention to the Pokémon on his screen. It looked like a flopping goldfish, pretty unimpressive in itself, but Andrew hadn’t read every Pokémon manga and strategy guide and supplemental resource to tatters for nothing. That little floppy fishy was a Magikarp, the Little Pokémon that Could, and once caught, it would be but a trifle to evolve it into a Gyarados, the mightiest of all water Pokémon, and then, ah then… the world would be his.

It took him a little while to catch the wee beastie – long enough that the smacking sounds coming from the various passing lovebirds were starting to annoy him.

“Get a room, guys,” he muttered as he finally managed to pitch his Poké Ball at just the right angle, eagerly watching as the Magikarp was added to his Pokémon Index.

“And how many Magikarp Candy does it take to evolve _you_?” he crooned, checking the stats.

_Holy crap! Four HUNDRED?_

He did some quick math in his head. Three candy for each capture, plus one for each that he sent to the Professor, plus he had to keep at least one _to_ evolve, that meant… One hundred and one. One hundred and one Magikarp. (Which, now that he said it out in his head like that, sounded like a really awesome title for an epic Disney/Pokémon crossover fanfiction, but he kicked his muse in the head and got back to business.)

He had the one.

One hundred to go.

He resumed the hunt.*

Giles finished making notations in his pocket journal – to be transcribed into his official journal later – and tucked it away, sighing. He considered himself still young at heart – though his body somehow refused to quite accede to his inner conviction – but he truly did not understand the appeal of cheap, heartburn-inducing foods and nauseating rides and unseemly sideshows. Bloody teenagers.

He swept his disdainful glance across the food stands clustered like vultures near the gate, each with its own revolting specialty. Deep-fried pickles. Corn dogs. And – as if he needed any further evidence of the depths to which American “cuisine” had sunk since its solid British roots – deep-fried butter.

Deep. Fried. Butter.

“How did they ever win the war?” he muttered.

Oddly, though, when he scanned the food trucks one more time from sheer boredom, he saw something unexpected. There, just past the deep-fried, bacon-wrapped weinerschnitzel booth, a rustic wooden sign swayed in a slight breeze, advertising the “Green Goose Inn.”

Curious.

He wended his way through the throng of people until he was standing before the improbable building. It was solid and weathered, with the look of a structure that had stood reliably in one place for centuries, and even knowing it was impossible, that it was undoubtedly an evil pub, he couldn’t help but poke his nose inside.

 _Merely assessing the evil,_ he reassured himself as he walked in. _It’s vitally important that the details of this circus phenomenon be recorded for posterity, and – good lord, fish and chips!_

He could feel his mouth watering at the sight of the basket being placed before another patron. Sunnydale had its charms – or at least he told himself it did – but he hadn’t had decent fish and chips since the last time he’d returned to the mother country, and these looked more than decent.

“Help you, sir?”

The barkeep even had a friendly North London accent, beaming from a cheerful round face, and Giles almost ordered automatically before reminding himself what a terrible idea it likely was.

“No,” he said instead, regret welling up. “I fear your fish and chips are… likely too evil for my palate.”

The barkeep shrugged, swiping at the bar with a clean white cloth. “Nothing wrong with the food, mate. California rules and regulations regarding concessions are ironclad.” He leaned forward confidingly. “And the Amusement Park Food Service Union wields a bloody big stick, if you know what I mean.”

Giles wavered, then sighed. “Would it be at all possible for me to inspect the kitchen first? You’ll understand if the price I’m willing to pay for a mess of fish and chips doesn’t include my soul.”

“Be my guest!” the barkeep said genially, gesturing to the back room.

The kitchen was a reassuring level of clean – easily meeting health inspection standards, yet not so pristine as to seem sterile and unearthly. Giles meandered about, careful not to get in the way of the two cooks, who were efficiently cooking all manner of mouth-watering English fare, pies and pasties and roasted meat. Everything did seem to be on the up-and-up; he took the precaution of muttering an incantation or two for verification, but in the end it seemed to be exactly what it was: the kitchen of a traditional English pub.

Unfortunately, when he leaned in for a closer look at the deep-fat fryer, where a basket of chips was merrily bubbling away, it gave a prodigious spatter, sending a splash of oil across his glasses. Giles removed them, looking at the spots ruefully.

“Sorry ‘bout that, mate,” the barkeep said behind him. “Food’s not evil, but I fear the deep-fat fryer may be a trifle mischievous at times.”

Giles turned with an awkward smile. “No harm done. It’s just a little oil.”

“Shall I fry you up something, then, sir?”

With a sigh, Giles ordered, then seated himself at the bar, rummaging in his pocket for his handkerchief to clean his glasses.

Odd. His handkerchief was gone. He could have sworn he’d brought it.

He checked the other pockets of his jacket, then his trousers, before concluding that he must have forgotten it after all, reaching instead for the napkin dispenser on the bar.

It was empty.

He did a quick circuit of the pub, quickly determining that there was not a single napkin to be found in the place. When he returned to the bar, he leaned over to check, but even the white towel the barkeep had been using just a few minutes before had vanished.

A basket of steaming, fragrant fish and chips was set before him. “Sorry, mate. Union doesn’t have much of a say in facilities maintenance. That tends to be on the evil side.” Giles glared at the apologetic barkeep, who shrugged. “But the food’s good.”

After his first bite of the succulent fried fish, Giles could only agree.

The food was _excellent._

*

As they disembarked under Snyder’s malevolent glare, Spike sighed. “Suppose it’s the service entrance, then?”

“No,” Buffy said firmly, taking his hand and leading him to the tail end of the nearly nonexistent line. “We’ll just go around again. We got enough tickets, right?”

Spike looked at her quizzically. “Yeah, but…”

“No buts. We’re getting that kitten, if we have to go through a dozen times.” Buffy looked determinedly away, blushing as she thought of what might happen on Ride Number Twelve. And then it was their turn to be seated again. Buffy responded to Snyder’s nasty comments on autopilot, and then they were off, Buffy’s leg jittering with anticipation.

The second they entered the tunnel, she slung her leg over and dove for Spike’s mouth.

He caught her by the shoulders, holding her away, eyes glittering in the near darkness. “What’s this all about, Slayer?” His voice was low and hard.

“We’re in the Tunnel of Love,” she said impatiently. “It’s about you kissing me.”

His eyes closed, and he pressed his forehead against hers. “Yeah. Got that memo. Just… don’t know what you mean by it, is all.”

 _Does it have to mean anything?_ Buffy thought, but then she sighed, because that just wasn’t fair, not to him and not to everything welling up inside her, begging to be acknowledged. “I don’t know,” she said honestly, laying her palm against his cheek. “I don’t know what it means. But… it means something.”

Spike’s hands on her shoulders twitched. “And the other night? Did that mean something?”

In the darkness, the carnival sounds distant and faded, it was easy to be honest. “Yes.” She swallowed shakily. “It meant something.” _It meant everything,_ she thought, but oh, she wasn’t ready to say that yet.

Spike laughed brokenly, as if he’d heard the words she couldn’t say, and then his hands were in her hair and his lips were on hers, and he was kissing her as if she was _his_ everything, and then he buried his face in her shoulder, arms wrapping tight around her, and she hugged him back tightly, because even though she didn’t have words for it yet, she knew.

This meant something.

_Meow!_

Buffy didn’t let go of Spike, but she lifted her head to meet the kitten’s eyes, glowing faintly in the dim tunnel; as she watched, it scampered along the path of the tunnel and out.

“We missed the kitten again,” she whispered.

“I know,” he muttered back, giving her one last squeeze before letting her slide back to her Seat of Plausible Deniability.

Buffy scanned the cheery fake foliage screening the flowing water. “There it goes!”

They watched as the Siamese kitten frolicked into the center of what looked like a set of animal enclosures, cages and barriers with, bizarrely, tents at the back of each area; it was smugly grooming itself when the foliage screened it from view again.

As their boat approached the dock, Buffy reached up and wove her fingers into Spike’s hand on her shoulder.

“Guess we should go get it, huh?”

Spike sighed gustily. “Suppose so.”

But Buffy couldn’t help but give the line for the Tunnel of Love one last wistful glance before they headed off.

The kitten was still there, cleaning its tail, when they got to the menagerie, but as they approached it perked up its ears and chased off after a moth, gamboling into one of the animal tents.

“Ready to take on the zoo?” Spike said, cracking his knuckles.

 

Which tent did the kitten go into?

Lion: [GO TO CHAPTER 85](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981729)

Elephant: [GO TO CHAPTER 54](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20980820)


	84. Chapter 84

Ben gritted his teeth as he swerved his Pinto around yet another mysterious lumpy obstacle in the road. He would swear they were bodies, but he really didn’t want to think too hard – though he couldn’t help but think a little, guilt welling up over not even stopping to check – about why there might be a trail of bodies along the way to the abandoned gas station to which he had been summoned. By the Slayer, no less, which was a little tidbit he really hoped he never had to explain to any of Glory’s scabby little minions.

He was just so sick of it all. Ever since he had gotten old enough to realize that growing up with a flock of weird demon servants was not precisely _normal_ , he had been disturbed by the weird way they would toady to him one second and order him around the next, plying him with sycophantic praise while never letting him forget that he himself was disposable, that the only one they really cared about was Glory. And now that he had basically lost everything except his life, and the time had come that he was about to lose that too… well, he couldn’t help but be a little angry about the way things were going. One thing was sure – he wasn’t going to make any of this easy for Glory. He refused to help her kill that poor kid who’d lost her mom, especially not when it was basically the same thing as helping her kill him too.

Nice that in this case the selfish thing to do was also the altruistic thing to do.

He had been drowning his sorrows in tequila at Glory’s ridiculous luxury condominium when he had received the call from Buffy, and it had been another one of those terrific selfish-altruism moments, both being able to help someone with the years of medical training Glory had thrown in the garbage along with his job, and getting to tweak Glory’s nose in the process by helping the slayer. Absolutely a win-win situation for Ben.

He swerved again, cursing the Pinto’s shocks and broken seatbelt as he bounced across a nasty pothole, whacking his head. Where the hell was the gas station?

*

Domingo lay bruised and bleeding beneath the wreck of the huge vehicle he had brought down with a well-aimed – but possibly, given his circumstances, ill-advised – spear. The dastardly passengers had long since gone, trudging down the road without even a backward glance, and not long afterwards the army of his brethren had marched in their enemies’ wake without even noticing him there, pinned as he was, and now he was alone. Alone in the dark of night, with no company save his thoughts and his fears and his pain.

Well, and his horse.

Percival was a fine war horse, trained for tactical battle against a myriad of edged and blunt weapons, against foot soldiers and cavalry – even when the enemies’ mounts were demonic in nature – and further trained to remain calm whether the storm of battle surrounding them was melee or magic. Percival would not abandon him. Perhaps Percival could even help him free his legs of their entrapment beneath the land-vessel called _Winnebago_ , carry him to where the healers of the Knights of Byzantium could restore him to health.

He called out to his noble steed. “Percival!”

Percival glanced up from where he was desultorily grazing on dry desert grass and whinnied.

“Percy!” Domingo made his voice cajoling despite the agony in his legs, clicking his tongue. “Percy, come to my aid!”

With a toss of his lush mane, Percival trotted a bit further away, to another patch of grass.

Domingo gritted his teeth and was about to call out again when a flash of light from the direction of town caught his eye. No, not a flash even – two bright white lamps, such as illuminated the strange vehicles of this dimension, coming closer and closer. His heart lifted briefly. Could his brethren have sent aid to him?

He weakly waved his hand as the car came closer and closer, faster and faster, and he belatedly realized that the vehicle was veering dangerously from side to side.

 _Is the coachman intoxicated?_ he wondered in growing alarm, just as the car spun and swerved and skidded right into the massive house-like vehicle crushing Domingo’s spine. He watched in agony and horror as a man was flung from the car, tumbling like a broken marionette onto the dirt nearby.

He didn’t even have time to wonder if the poor soul was alive before the great _Winnebago_ groaned and shuddered, overbalanced from the violent impact, and tumbled over atop the body, so that only his feet were protruding.

They didn’t even twitch.

Domingo only spared a moment more worrying about the dead stranger before realizing that, now that the huge white vehicle was crushing the stranger, it was also and simultaneously _no longer crushing Domingo_! Surely God had smiled on him, granting him freedom from a slow death of dehydration and pain. If only he could sit, get Percival to come closer so he could pull himself up by the stirrup…

“Perci—“

The dead stranger’s vehicle exploded.

*

Percival raised his head and regarded the blazing wreckage with supreme unconcern, barely even flinching when the flames reached the gas tank of the Winnebago, igniting a secondary explosion. After all, he was a highly trained war horse, able to face weapons and magic and, of course, the tragic death of his rider in a fiery inferno with equine grace and aplomb. He was, in fact, far more interested in the changing wind, which now carried the scent of his fellow Horses of Byzantium from where they had been tethered.

With a final mouthful of grass, Percival cantered off to rejoin his herd.

*

Buffy sneaked another glance out at the armed fighters surrounding their rickety gas station haven. What could possibly be taking Ben so long? Had she not sounded urgent enough? Had he stopped for some frickin’ Taco Bell along the way? She cast her weary glance around the room. Willow was huddled up with Tara, trying to get her to eat some fruit. Xander, Anya, and Dawn were conversing in hushed whispers against one of the interior walls. And Spike…. She frowned. Spike was standing next to the counter where they’d lain Giles, blocking her view.

She stalked over. “What are you doing?”

“Just putting a little more pressure on.” He glanced up at her, eyes hooded. “Not exactly used to trying to keep it in a person, but at least I know how the bloody stuff works. Blood, that is.”

Buffy slipped her hand into Giles’s, nudging Spike aside. “Any change?”

Spike grimaced down at the wadded-up curtain he was pressing into Giles’s stomach. “None, and you should be bloody grateful for that fact, Slayer. You and I both know that what the watcher needs is a hospital. Longer we’re trapped in here, thinner his chances get.”

“Yeah, well, the guys with the pointy swords have other ideas. They only agreed to allow medical help in, not to let us out.” She squeezed Giles’s hand, wishing he would at least squeeze back instead of just… lying there trembling.

Spike snorted in exasperation. “Could make a break for —”

Buffy interrupted, anxiety making her voice sharp. “And what, tuck Giles into a backpack until we can put him back together? We can’t run with him like this.” She gulped back a sob. There wasn’t time for tears now.

Spike looked at her silently for a long moment, long enough that it made her uncomfortable, and she focused on his bandaged hands. “I can… I can do that,” she said eventually. “You go… I dunno. Glower intimidatingly at our hostage or something.”

“All right,” he muttered, shrugging. “I’ll just bugger off then.”

“It’s not…” Buffy began, then sighed. “I just want some… some time alone with him.” She tucked her hands in under Spike’s, taking over the pressure. His fingers brushed the backs of her hands as he withdrew, hands going in his duster pockets. “…Spike?”

“Yeah?” He had fumbled a pack of cigarettes out and was glaring at it.

“Thanks,” she whispered.

He acknowledged it with a nod and a flare of his eyelids before striding off into the back.

*

Spike nipped a Marlboro out of the pack and let it dangle from his lips while he fumbled his Zippo out. Grabbing that bloody sword had seemed like a brilliant idea at the time, when it had been heading straight for Buffy’s head, and then he sure as bloody hell hadn’t been about to let go once he’d already dived off that cliff of clever decisions, but that final slash had ripped through tendons, and now his (figuratively _and_ literally) bloody fingers weren’t working properly.

And, well, he hadn’t done it for the praise – hadn’t had time to think about it at all – but it would’ve been nice to get a bit more than the terse _they’ll heal_ Buffy had tossed out before getting back to business. Though he had to admire her focus. Whatever her faults, Buffy bloody well knew how to win.

He was struggling to operate the lighter when Xander came up and took it right out of his hand.

Spike half expected the boy to set him on fire then and there, but instead he held it out expectantly, so with a muttered, “Thanks,” Spike let Xander light him up, taking a deep breath of nicotine. Didn’t help the pain, of course, but it did make him feel a bit more himself.

“You know, those things’ll kill you,” Xander said, tucking the lighter in his own pocket. Spike glared at him, and he had either the grace or the self-preservation instinct to smile wryly. “Oh. Right.”

They stood side by side for a while, leaning up against the wall.

Finally, Xander looked over again. “I mention today how much I don’t like you?” His voice was oddly companionable – not friendly, but not antagonistic either.

“You mighta let it slip in… once or twice.”

Xander smiled faintly, then nodded towards Spike’s bandaged hands.

“How’re your feelers?”

Spike could feel a rant bubbling up inside him – _god_ , he hated being boxed in! – but he made himself shrug. “Nothing compared to what the watcher’s going through.”

Xander was silent for a long moment, then held out his hand. “Gimme.”

Spike stared at it. “And just what am I giving you? Already snaffled my lighter – don’t think I didn’t notice.”

“The cigarette. I’m over eighteen, I’m legal to smoke.” Eyebrows raised, Spike held out the half-smoked Marlboro; Xander took it between two fingers and regarded it for a moment before taking a deep drag.

Spike snagged the cigarette back before Xander could drop it in the ensuing coughing fit. “You know, those things’ll kill you,” he grinned nastily before inhaling. Xander nodded between coughs, eyes streaming and face red.

He was just looking like he might be able to talk again when there was a hubbub from outside, shouts and cries from the besieging army, and then from the other room – Tara’s voice, raised in a wail, and Dawn babbling. Spike didn’t wait for Xander to follow, just flicked his cigarette in the general direction of their captive and burst back out into the main room.

“No, really, Buffy!” Dawn was saying as he emerged. “It’s Ben!” Anya had taken over Buffy’s post by Giles, while Willow was comforting Tara, murmuring in her ear.

“What’s Ben?” Buffy frowned, half-turning towards the door. “Is he finally here?”

“No! Just listen, it’s important!” Dawn was flapping her hands frantically. “Ben is Glory!”

“Wait, what?” Buffy stared at Dawn, face confused.

“I just remembered! We were at the hospital and we were talking, and then when Ben found out I was the Key he went all freakazoid on me, and then he turned into Glory. Then I…” She flushed. “I forgot.”

Buffy folded her arms, looking skeptical. “You forgot? This isn’t like a book report, this is life and death. You didn’t think Glory’s real identity was worth, I don’t know, tying a string around your finger?”

“Well I didn’t _try_ to forget,” Dawn wailed, but Buffy had already moved on, her face collapsing in horror.

“Oh my god. If Ben is Glory… I just called him. I told him exactly where we are.” She rushed to the door, looking out through the cracks in the wood, then frowned. “Huh. Where’d Merlin and his twin brother go?” She turned back, scanning the room. “Willow, is the barrier still up? Because…”

But Willow was crying now, tears running down her cheeks, and she turned to Buffy, grinning crookedly. “Buffy, it’s Tara… She’s back.”

“…Back? But she was… Oh. Oh! She’s…?”

Willow looked into Tara’s face, curving a hand around her cheek. “She’s Tara again. Whatever Glory did to her… it’s over.”

“What happened?” Tara murmured, looking around with shadowed eyes. “Last I remember I was at the Culture Fair, and now…”

“Long story,” Willow murmured gently, leaning in for a kiss.

Spike rolled his eyes at the snogging, stalking over to Dawn. “You’re saying Ben is Glory?” He cast a sidelong glance over at Buffy. “You really do know how to pick ‘em, Slayer.”

Buffy’s lower lip stuck out just a bit. “We weren’t dating,” she said lamely. “In fact, I made the very wise decision _not_ to date him, not long ago.”

“Right,” Spike grinned challengingly. “You just called up your hellgod mortal enemy to be our own personal Red Cross.”

Buffy flushed and rounded on Dawn. “Dawnie, how could you forget something so important?”

“I don’t know,” Dawn grumbled. “I remember it happening, that night in the hospital, right? Except then I remember… not knowing. Like, it was completely wiped out of my mind and it just all came back to me. I feel stupid.”

“It’s not… It’s not your fault,” Buffy said gently, though her jaw was tense.

“But it is!” Dawn’s chin crumpled up like she was about to cry. “I should have remembered. You’d think a guy changing into a girl right in front of your eyes would be kinda memorable.” She frowned. “Especially when it’s a girl who’s trying to kill you.”

“Maybe there was a spell,” Anya interjected from her post at Giles’s side. “A forgetting spell.”

Spike gave Dawn a reassuring clock on the arm, light enough not to set off his chip. “That’s likely, sweet bit. Bet Glory’s worked the kind of mojo where anyone who sees her little presto-change-o instantly forgets.”

“Yeah, but if that’s the case… why remember now?” Buffy’s eyes met Spike’s, brimming with worry.

God, her eyes were beautiful.

Fortunately for Spike, before that thought could make it to his lips there was a loud call of horns outside, followed by a bellowed message.

Buffy frowned. “They want to party? That’s a really weird thing to do in the middle of a siege.”

“Parley,” Spike sighed. “They want to talk.”

With a roll of her eyes, Buffy took hold of his sleeve. “Ugh. If they want to talk so much, why use French? I couldn’t even speak French when I was studying it, much less now.” She tugged him towards the door. “Let’s get this over with.”

*

Buffy glared at the Knight of Byzantium who earlier had been giving her static about bringing in medical help for Giles. This time around he was flanked by the two bearded weirdos in robes – why did people getting their ritual on wear robes all the time, anyhow? Was it just for the ambiance, or did they actually need the airflow for good spell conduction? She would have to ask Willow later.

One of the Gandalf-wannabes bowed his head, expression faintly embarrassed. “We have had a vision. The Beast is dead.”

Buffy raised her eyebrows. “Aren’t you supposed to stick a ‘Ding-Dong!’ on the front of that line? Have a parade or something.”

“The Beast is dead,” the second cleric repeated. “Years ago, the Beast was banished to this lower plane of existence, forced to live and eventually die trapped within the body of a mortal… a newborn male, created as her prison. Her only weakness was that mortal body. In our vision, we saw that the Beast’s human vessel, whose identity we have never been able to discover, has been destroyed, and the Beast dies with him. And with the Beast dead… the Key can no longer be used to destroy all.”

Buffy risked a glance at Spike, who looked as mystified as she felt. “Wait, are you saying Glory died? And I didn’t get to do it?” Buffy could feel a pout coming on.

“We have seen it.”

“Huh.” _Well, that would explain why Ben never came…_

The knight in the middle gritted his teeth for a moment in frustration, then managed a grudging nod. “The Knights of Byzantium apologize for the inconvenience.” With another bow, they turned and walked away. Buffy watched with mouth agape as the warriors started to gather up their weapons and march off.

“Wait!” she shouted, running and catching one of the clerics by the sleeve. “That’s it? You’re just leaving?”

“With the Beast gone, we have no reason to remain.”

Buffy got a good grip on the front of his robe and tugged him down so they were face to face. “You guys attacked us and trapped us here and nearly killed Giles, and you’re just _sorry for the inconvenience?_ ” Nuh-uh. You Ren-Faire rejects owe us.” She looked over her shoulder at the battered gas station. “We need to get back to town, and fast. You owe us that much.”

“We… we cannot escort you back,” the cleric stammered, eyes wide. “We must return to our stronghold, to prepare for the next time our God needs us.”

“Horses,” Spike said suddenly. “You chaps have horses, yeah?”

The cleric looked offended. “Our horses are meticulously bred and rigorously trained. They are the finest war horses to be seen in this or any of the neighboring dimensions. You cannot expect…”

Buffy grinned ferally into his face. “Oh, I can expect, all right. In fact, I demand. Enough horses for all of us to get back to town safely and quickly. We need to get Giles to a doctor.” She let go of the man’s robe, giving him a little pat on the chest – just hard enough to get her message across. “And you’d better hope we get there in time, too, because if Giles dies? I guarantee you are going to regret it.”

Rubbing his sternum, the cleric gave a sharp nod of comprehension.

*

It took a while to get everyone mounted – Willow, despite her insistence earlier that the horsies not be hurt, was terrified and needed some convincing just to approach them, and Buffy herself was a bit at sea, having not been in a saddle since that birthday party with the pony rides when she was eight. But Anya and Spike both copped to having experience, and after the obligatory amount of fuss and fear and falling off, eventually they all managed to get astride and headed in the direction of town. Buffy had wanted to carry Giles herself, but she didn’t think it was a good idea when she was having so much trouble just convincing her horse to go straight, and so she had carefully lifted Giles up to Spike; they were riding now at the front of their little herd. Buffy watched them constantly, worried at every twitch Giles made, and wondering.

When they were about halfway back to Sunnydale, Buffy managed to convince her horse to speed up a little, to catch up to Spike. “How do you know how to ride a horse?”

Spike glared at Buffy, shifting Giles cautiously in his arms. “I’ll have you know I have an excellent seat.”

Buffy glanced at Spike’s butt, resting in the weird medieval-y saddle, and even annoyed as she was that he hadn’t actually answered her question, she couldn’t help but think that he was _so_ right.

 

[GO TO CHAPTER 108](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982200)

  
 


	85. Chapter 85

The fence surrounding the lion enclosure wasn’t all that high, but the area of the paddock that butted up to the fence was deeper than the main thoroughfare, with a moat surrounding it. Buffy didn’t even pause before vaulting over, landing lightly on the packed dirt. Spike leapt after her, leaving his basket behind. Oddly, he didn’t see a single lion.

“Remind me why we’re entering the lion’s den?” he muttered as they approached the tent.

“So you don’t get your head bitten off,” she whispered back.

“Beginning to suspect this might be a bit counterproductive.” Kittens were easy to acquire; heads, not so much.

The tent was small; now that they were right up on it, it didn’t seem big enough to hold more than two lions, and then only if they were very, very friendly. Spike frowned, scanning the enclosure again: dirt and moat and a few rocks for basking, but he didn’t see a single animal.

“Slayer, I am a mite concerned over the lack of animals in this animal habitat.”

Buffy frowned. “Yeah. It does seem a bit deserted.”

“Maybe they’re asleep,” he said doubtfully.

“Maybe.” She set her pretty jaw and gave him that look of hers, the one that said she meant business. “All right. You open the flap, and I’ll grab the kitten.”

 “Or, if it’s awake, kick the lion in the face,” Spike suggested. “Before any heads – or, for that matter, limbs – get bitten off.”

“Or kick the lion in the face,” Buffy agreed. “On the count of three. One… Two…”

Spike pulled open the flap of the tent and saw…

SUNLIGHT.

“ _Bloody hell!_ ” He fell back, skin smoking, letting the tent flap fall, and Buffy rushed over to him, patting frantically at his smoking hands, until he was well and truly extinguished.

She crept back to the tent flap, opening it just enough to peek in. “Wow,” she said, voice tinged with awe. “It must be a dimensional portal or something, because there’s a whole Pridelands inside this tent. The lions are all lounging on the rocks like it’s the Bahamas.”

“Not to mention that it’s bloody daylight,” Spike groused, sucking on an especially burnt fingertip.

“Oooh!” Buffy perked up visibly. “I see the kitten! I bet I can get it.” She shrugged casually. “If the lions don’t get me first.”

“Wait, Buffy…”

She grinned at him impishly. “Be back in a jiff!” And she darted through the tent flap and was gone.

Spike snarled in impotent rage and fear, pulling the tent flap back just enough that, if he stood off to the side and craned his neck just right, he could just barely see Buffy’s feet as she crept through the tall grasses. There was a rustle, then a meow, then – _oh god!_ – a roar, and then Buffy was in the tent opening, gasping and laughing, the Siamese kitten cradled in her hands.

“Go!” she shouted, but Spike let her go first, stepping out and blocking the path behind her, arms spread wide, because bugger it all, if any heads were getting bitten off his was the obvious choice.

And there was always the very faint chance they wouldn’t go for the head.

But apparently the lions were less than hungry; the tent flap stayed shut, and when Buffy shouted “Come _on_ , Spike!” from the other side of the fence, he turned and followed her until they were both standing in the clear. He could hear the kitten meowing from inside the basket – he bloody well hoped it was shut tight this time – and he took Buffy by the shoulders, looking her over for injuries, and she laughed – _laughed!_ – and he snarled and dragged her off to a dim corner far from prying eyes.

“Are you off your bird, Slayer?” he began, and was all set to launch into a tirade about not bloody running off to fight bloody lions on her bloody buggering own when she caught him about the neck and dragged him down for a deep kiss, and god, he was furious but he wasn’t about to turn her away, not when she kissed like that, full of adrenaline and laughter and joy. He clutched at her desperately, groaning as she ran her hands up and down his back, swearing as she grabbed his arse, and he was ready to bloody well shag her right then and there, except his chip kept sending warning tingles through his head, reminding him that perhaps he should get over the wanting-to-kill-her-for-her-own-good thing before his brain bloody well fried.

Eventually, Buffy’s breathing slowed and her arms snaked tight around his waist and they stood there, clinging together like limpets, far longer than Spike had ever dreamed. Buffy rubbed her cheek against him.

“Gotta be nice for the lions,” she said at last. “They don’t live in a cage at all. They’ve got their own sunny paradise, and the carnival is, like, their veranda.”

“Yeah, lucky them,” Spike muttered.

“No, it’s really nice,” Buffy said earnestly, looking up at him. “You hear stories, you know, about how terrible animals in captivity get treated sometimes. That’s why we went all the way up the coast to sell the horses.” She looked down, blushing gorgeously. “I did a whole bunch of research on the internet, y’know? Found a place that has a nice farm for the horses to run around on when they’re not onstage. High marks from all the animal rights organizations.” She frowned pensively. “Except that one, but they’re… kinda fringey.”

Spike didn’t give a good goddamn about the horses’ bloody habitat, but it was bleeding adorable how much Buffy cared. And god knew he’d take any excuse to kiss Buffy again. So he did.

The next time Buffy needed to come up for air, she gave him a tight, hard hug and stepped away.

“We got the kitten,” she said, voice determinedly normal.

Spike inhaled, then exhaled, then nodded. “That we did.” He reluctantly released her, settling his duster about his shoulders as she tugged her clothing back into a semblance of order.

“Right, then.”

They collected the basket and headed back to the entrance.

 

[GO TO CHAPTER 49](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20980724)


	86. Chapter 86

Spike peeled off a tenner to pay for the hideously-overpriced vanilla ice cream, making sure Buffy was watching when he stuffed the change in the tip jar, because while he didn’t give a good goddamn about the teen cashier’s well-being, he had learned some time ago that Buffy had Strong Opinions regarding tipping, and Buffy’s good opinion was something he did give a damn about.

And if he were totally honest, ten measly dollars was a small price to pay for the blissful look on Buffy’s face when she took her first taste of the soft-serve, her sweet pink tongue licking at the melting surface. But then he caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye, and sighed, nudging Buffy’s arm.

“There it goes,” he said, jerking his chin in the direction the Siamese kitten was going, and they followed it out of the concessions area and into a huge striped tent.

Spike was hoping the kitten had chosen someplace private, where he could perhaps convince Buffy that ice cream tasted better eaten off a vampire’s chest, but no such luck; there were a few dozen people wandering around the tent, which was ringed with small stages, each of which held a different performer. On one, a pair of flexible acrobats in spangled unitards were doing an intricate balancing act; on another, a juggler was gliding a glass ball around from hand to hand in a mesmerizing dance. A third held a woman in a glittery feathered outfit, swallowing swords.

Buffy elbowed him sharply. “Stop staring at the sexy ladies and help me find the kitten.”

He rolled his eyes and the search began.

*

Willow knew they should be looking for the kitten – and she was looking, really she was! – but Tara just kept spinning her little goldfishie around on its keychain clip and giving her those happy sidelong looks and generally being adorable, and after a bit more desultory investigation, Willow took her lover by the hand and tugged her back in the direction of the goldfish toss.

“Come on, we’ve got enough tickets I can win you something bigger.”

Oddly, when they got back to the booth, the setup of the game had changed. Instead of just being a flat table covered with a layer of goldfish bowls, the bowls had been arranged on tiered steps, and some of them were different colors – red, blue, and even one that was glimmering gold. It was nestled in among the other bowls in a way that Willow knew – as a Goldfish Toss Expert – would be nigh-impossible to manage.

The attendant-who-couldn’t-possibly-be-Jared handed her five balls in exchange for her tickets. “Three in to win.”

“What about that gold bowl?”

He shrugged, bored. “If you can get one ball in the gold bowl….” He waved vaguely in the direction of the big goldfish plushies that Tara had liked.

 _Oooh._ Willow narrowed her eyes. Gold bowl it was.

Her first ball plopped neatly into one of the plain bowls next to it.

Second ball ping-ponged off the rim, into the side of one of the tiered steps, and off into the corner.

Willow tried a fancy ricochet shot on the third, using those same steps, and it almost worked – she got the angle right and it plopped right into the bowl – but there was too much momentum and the ball plopped right back out again.

Her fourth ball, Willow hesitated. She could keep trying for the gold bowl, or she could lob it easily into one of the plain bowls and try for a three-in win, maybe get a second goldfish keychain so they could have a matched set, but her wavering made her tentative, and the ball bounced smugly off the easy-in bowl she’d picked.

So it was down to the gold bowl.

Willow narrowed her eyes and gritted her teeth and aimed.

“ _Stay in,_ ” she muttered under her breath, tossing the ball, and it wasn’t until the rush of magic went through her that she realized what she had done.

One of the things she and Tara had been working on was control – it had become increasingly clear that Willow’s connection to magic was so deep and primal that she often didn’t even need a spell to make things happen, just a word and the right kind of concentration, and after some of the disasters of the past year, Willow had made a real effort to manage her focus, so as to avoid rampaging trolls and the like. And she knew Tara wouldn’t want a cheat-prize, even if it was an accidental cheat. So as the ball sailed through the air and landed easily and permanently right in the middle of the gold bowl, she waved her hand in the air.

“Sorry!” she babbled, glancing over at Tara. “That one doesn’t count. Let me get you another ticket, I’ll try again.”

But not-Jared’s eyes glowed, and he smiled, and suddenly Willow realized it was in fact Jared, an undead Jared or a ghosty Jared or maybe just something awful pretending to be Jared, and now that she thought of it, maybe ghosty-Jared might still be cranky about that time Willow had refused to let him cheat off her math test, back when they’d been in the same math class, which they hadn’t after that because Jared had flunked math…

Willow turned to Tara, and Tara’s eyes were huge, and at first Willow thought it was because Tara was upset about the control thing, but then she felt her body tingling and she looked down at her hands and she realized they were changing, puffing out and getting fluffy and oh god, the same thing was happening to Tara, Tara was changing right in front of her eyes, and she felt herself lifting off the ground, floating up in the air as she changed and fluffed and shrank, until she didn’t feel like Willow at all, and Tara…

Tara had become a huge, fuzzy, stuffed goldfish. Only her eyes still held a gleam of Tara in them, and as Willow watched, even that bit of sparkle faded away, leaving just glassy blankness.

Willow couldn’t see what she had become, but she had her suspicions, because all she could see in her peripheral vision was orange.

And then Jared took hold of her and fishie-Tara and hooked them up to the top of the booth with the other prizes, whistling a jaunty tune.

They were staying.

*

Anya changed her mind about the Tilt-a-Whirl the second she laid on eyes on it. It didn’t look fun at all, just like a lot of being thrown around over and over again, jerky and repetitive. If Anya was going to get thrown around and subjected to something jerky and repetitive, she’d rather just have sex, which was jerky and repetitive with orgasms.

So instead she got Xander some nice cool water – with her own money, because she was a working gal – and found a quiet corner where she could give him a backrub while he got over being sick. And then she thought maybe he needed a bit of a belly rub to help him get over being sick, so she laid him back on the bench and rubbed his belly, and then when he was starting to look less green and more like his usual jolly self, she found another place to rub, to help him perk up.

And oh, did he perk up.

Fortunately, Anya had thought ahead – because thinking that she’d rather have sex than ride the Tilt-a-Whirl had given her the idea of _actually_ having sex instead of riding the Tilt-a-Whirl – and there was a nice utility shed just past the bench where she and Xander could be alone.

He wasn’t feeling sick at all any more, Anya could tell, but she suspected he should take it easy for a while anyhow, so she led him in and helped him get comfortable, putting his water within reach, just in case. Then she let him watch while she took off all her clothes – folding them neatly off to the side because _criminey!_ dry cleaning was expensive – and prepared to do everything possible to make her sweetie-bear feel better.

She’d been doing yoga lately on her mornings off from the Magic Box, and had been dying to show Xander just how flexible she’d gotten.

He was speechless.

Anya was preparing to demonstrate her perfect backbend – well, a variation on it at least – when she thought she heard something.

_Stay in!_

“Was that Willow?” she asked Xander, but he was looking at her in horror, and then she could feel her body fizzling, dissolving and reforming, like when she used to be able to teleport except not as pleasant, and she wrapped her arms around Xander and held tight, because if something horrible was happening, she really wanted them to at least be together.

And they were.

*

Giles stood in the middle of the midway, unable to see more than vague flashes through the rare clean spots on his glasses. He couldn’t even see well enough to get back to his bench, and his few forays into walking in random directions had led to his nearly treading on other patrons of the funfair, and so he was standing still in the hopes that someone would come along who could help him.

“Having a problem?”

The voice was British and familiar, and Giles tensed for a moment before realizing that no, it couldn’t possibly be Ethan Rayne, he had been locked in a cell by the government; it must be the gentleman from the pub.

“Perhaps a bit,” he said wryly. “I need to return to the entrance.”

“Here, friend. Let me help you along.” The barkeep took him by the elbow and started to walk with him, guiding him through the crowd.

“Rather annoying, not being able to see,” Giles laughed ruefully, feeling the need to converse politely. “Ridiculous, in fact.”

“How’s that?”

“Well, I’m a Watcher, you see. And for a Watcher to be unable to see…. Well, it’s not the first time, but I do find it rather…”

“Ironic?”

Giles frowned as he was helped up a step. Something about that voice…. “Shouldn’t we have reached the entrance by now?”

“Oh, you don’t want to leave, old friend. Stay.”

Giles looked down at the hand on his arm, and realized with growing horror that it was long and thin, a far cry from the barkeep’s sturdy workman’s hands, and he tore his arm away and turned to run, but it was too late.

He stayed.

*

Andrew was just about to take a break for some hard-earned churros, when his phone vibrated with the appearance of another Pokémon, and he smiled involuntarily when he saw that it was one of the cutest of the Pokémon, Jigglypuff.

Tucker had always mocked Jigglypuff, so Andrew had always kept it a secret, but he had a soft spot for the little pink puffball. It was such a zen little fellow, putting its opponents to sleep instead of pounding them into the ground. Even now, Andrew could almost hear its soporific song ringing through his head.

_Jiiiiigglypuuuuuff…. Jiiiiigglypuuuuuff…._

Wait.

He _could_ hear the song.

Andrew turned around to see an actual, real-life Jigglypuff, pink and round and sweet, standing in front of him, right in the middle of the carnival.

“Oh, wow,” he whispered. “This is the best game ever. Bravo, Very Smart Phone. Bravo.”

He wondered what this new manifestation meant – if he captured it on the screen, would he capture it in real life? Would he have a real, pink and fluffy Jigglypuff that would sing him to sleep every night? What would he feed it? Oh gosh, but he was getting ahead of himself. He had to catch it first. And since he didn’t have any real-life Poké Balls, the one in the game must be what he needed. With a final reverent look at the Real Life Pokémon before him, he turned his eyes back to his screen, switching over to a Great Ball because he just wouldn’t be able to bear failure, not now.

The song stopped, and there was a strange puffing sound, like a balloon inflating, but Andrew thought nothing of it, because the Jigglypuff was still right there on his screen, and on his third throw he caught it! He watched the ball on the screen wiggle once, twice, and at thrice it gave off the little blast of light that meant _success!_ and Andrew turned tearful eyes to his new best friend.

Whoa.

While Andrew had been looking at the tiny Jigglypuff on the screen, the tiny Jigglypuff in real life had stopped being tiny. All Andrew saw, in fact, was a huge expanse of pink; he craned his neck and looked up to see that the Jigglypuff was immense, the size of a building, and he thought, _That’s not going to fit in my bedroom._

Then the Jigglypuff stepped on him, and he thought no more.

*

Buffy was certain the kitten was still in the sideshows tent – she kept hearing meows – but after three circuits of the stages, she still hadn’t managed to catch more than a glimpse of its little brown-tipped tail. Spike was growing ever more grouchy by her side, which was starting to make her grouchy too, because it wasn’t like she had set up the whole kitten-catching thing. He was the one with the adorable-pet-gambling-problem, so it was his own damn fault if he didn’t like the way their “date” was going.

Finally, threw her hands up in frustration. “Geez, can I just _slay_ your loan shark before he bites your head off?”

Spike stopped in his tracks, nonplussed. “Yeah, uh, that’d probably work.”

“All righty then.” Buffy took Spike by the hand and headed for the sideshow tent’s entrance.

Where was the entrance?

Buffy made a circuit of the stages, starting with the acrobats. Acrobats, glass-sphere-juggler, sword-swallower, fire-breather, strong man, tattooed lady, and back to acrobats again… with no gap in the stages for the entrance.

She tried again. Acrobats, glass-sphere-juggler, sword-swallower, acrobats, fire-breather, strong man, tattooed lady, and back to acrobats.

Wait, had there been two sets of acrobats that time?

She picked up the pace, running around the oval of stages. Acrobats, glass-sphere-juggler, sword-swallower, acrobats – there _were_ two sets – fire-breather, strong man, tattooed lady, Giles, and back to acrobats…

She stopped and walked back to that last one, the one with the sign that said “The Amazing Watcher!” Oh god. It was Giles, standing there on the stage, posing. Reading a book. Taking a sip of Scotch. Cleaning his glasses – though she noticed that the glasses weren’t coming clean, no matter how he wiped them.

She dashed across the tent to the second set of acrobats, the new ones – and recoiled in horror as she realized it was Xander and Anya, clad in spangled unitards, faces frozen in rictus grins as they contorted into positions that Buffy was quite certain Xander, at least, was incapable of.

“Spike!” she shouted frantically, because he wasn’t beside her any more, he wasn’t anywhere in the audience, and then she saw him, on a new stage sandwiched between the juggler and the sword-swallower, swirling his duster around dramatically and posing in cheesy Dracula poses, his eyes horrified, and she leaped past the sign that read “Vampire” because oh god she had to rescue him, she had to rescue them all, except as she passed the velvet rope she could feel herself fizzling, and then she was standing on a stage – in between the strong man and the tattooed lady, she quickly ascertained – a stake in her hand, and she was doing zippy cartwheels and snapping out clever puns and oh god, oh god they were all caught in the sideshows – all except Willow and Tara, and who knew what had happened to them? – and she had no clue how or why it had happened, and thus no clue how they could possibly get out of it.

Maybe they never did.

THE END

 

Would you like to try again? [Go to Chapter 1!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20978552)

[Read the Author’s Notes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20983016)


	87. Chapter 87

Buffy stared at the _thing_ in her hand.  _Oh god, what the hell was I thinking?_ It looked almost like a corn dog, the fried batter drizzled with a layer of sugary glaze, but… well, either the thing involved a whole lot of batter, or they had literally just inserted a handle into an entire stick of butter and fried it up. She was almost afraid to find out which.

“Buffy!”

She turned to see the last person she had expected to ever see again in Sunnydale – Riley Finn, larger than life, striding across the midway as if the butter had summoned him.

Now, with Spike’s kisses still fresh on her lips, he was the last person she _wanted_ to see.

But he was smiling at her easily, that affable grin she had found so soothingly normal, and she couldn’t help but smile back, even as Spike growled beside her.

“Riley! What are you doing back here?”

He shrugged. “Heard through channels that there was something going down, thought maybe you might need me.”

Buffy looked at Riley for a long moment, not really sure what to say. She couldn’t look at him without remembering how she’d felt, how she’d cried, how she’d run after him to beg him to stay when she’d _needed him_ , back when everything was falling apart, and yeah, she remembered the love, but she also remembered emptiness, and tears, and most of all how when she’d _needed him_ he’d been running around getting his bite on, and then gone, because no matter how much she’d _needed him_ it hadn’t been enough.

“My mom died,” was what she finally said.

He blinked. “Oh, Buffy, I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah,” Buffy said shortly. “Me too.”

She could feel Spike quivering behind her, and what the hell, she was feeling a little pissy; she tucked her arm into Spike’s and tugged him forward.

“Spike and I are on a _date_ ,” she said firmly.

Riley’s eyes narrowed. “Are you?”

“That we are,” Spike chimed in smugly; Buffy elbowed him before he got too deep into the gloating.

There was so much Buffy could say, but as she looked at Riley, she just felt tired, like she’d walked a thousand miles since that day she’d run after him, and… she didn’t want to go back. Not to who she’d been back then, when she’d been desperate to prove that her love was enough. When she’d _needed him_ so much, and he hadn’t been there, even when he’d been right by her side.

She didn’t know where she was going from here, what she wanted or what she needed, but she knew… she knew she didn’t need Riley. Not anymore.

Riley was still looking at her with that cheerful, puppy-dog smile that she had once thought meant he was actually a pretty nice guy, but she was now starting to suspect was a mask. “Just don’t worry about it, Riley. We’ve got everything under control.” She smiled sweetly. “I don’t need you.”

His face shifted ominously for just a moment before sliding back into a smile. “All right, Buffy. I can see this isn’t a good time. I can come by the house later on and we can catch up on things. Sound good?”

It really didn’t, but if Riley couldn’t make the connection between _being on a date_ and _not wanting to talk to your ex_ , then that was his problem. “Whatever.” She glared at the deep-fried butter in her hand, winding up to toss it into the garbage.

Riley caught her arm. “Aren’t you going to eat that?”

Buffy looked at it again, just to make sure. “Nope. Definitely not.” She shook his hand off pointedly.

“Well don’t waste it. Here, give it to me, I’ll eat it. They use real Iowa butter in these, you know. All the best foods come from Iowa.”

“Knock yourself out,” Buffy sighed drily, handing over the heart-attack-on-a-stick. “Look, it’s sweet and all that you came back, but I have this whole carnival thing under control. Enjoy your trip back to the jungle.” She grabbed Spike by the elbow and dragged him back towards the concession stands.

***

Riley watched her go, frowning. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Buffy hadn’t been all that happy to see him. But he supposed he’d been right about her all along; she had some sick obsession with vampires, or she wouldn’t have sunk to dating Spike. It was a shame he was only here for the night, or he’d take her out for dinner, remind her what a man could be like before it was too late.

Ah, well. Her loss. He’d sure dodged a bullet, getting away from her. He started walking back to the carnival helipad. There was always that girl he’d rescued in the jungle; she seemed to appreciate him well enough.

He took a bite of the deep-fried butter, enjoying the crispy exterior and the soft, rich interior, and in his absorption in the nostalgic Iowa flavor, he missed his step and tripped, tumbling over a low fence and into a weird sunken moat. _Great._

He had just heaved himself up on the shore of the ridiculous waterway when he realized he was surrounded.

By lions.

He reached for the taser on his hip, aiming it at the lioness leading the pride, but it fizzled in his hand, fritzed out by the water.

“Buffy?” he whispered frantically, then risked a shout. “Buffy!”

*

The lions closed in, licking their chops. They had been fed plentifully, of course, but here was something fresh and buttery, with plenty of meat for the whole pride to share. And it looked to be a delicious feast indeed.

After all, all the best foods came from Iowa.

***

Buffy was still hungry, but it was really hard to make up her mind what she wanted to eat when there was so much noise behind her.

“God, what is up with the lions?” she groused, glaring back over her shoulder.

Spike shrugged. “Must be feeding time,” he muttered offhandedly. “Now, am I buying you a sweet, or not?”

“Oh, you’re buying, all right,” Buffy retorted. “For some reason I have a really bad taste in my mouth…”

 

What treat does Buffy want?

Deep-Fried Twinkie: [GO TO CHAPTER 130](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982749)

Ice Cream: [GO TO CHAPTER 59](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20980928)

Cream Puff: [GO TO CHAPTER 30](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20979830)


	88. Chapter 88

Spike shook his head. “Bought the treat for you,” he pointed out.

Buffy pouted for a moment, then cast a look up at him through her eyelashes. “What can I say? I like to share.” And then she hooked his ankle, sending him sprawling on the floor.

“Yeah, I can see that,” Spike laughed. “Thanks for sharing your judo skills.”

She looked down at him, taking a meditative lick of her ice cream. “Spike, can you hold the door shut with your feet?”

Spike lifted an eyebrow and stretched his legs out until his boots were up against the door. “Looks like.” He tucked his hands behind his head, looking insolently up at her. “Got any other mundane tasks need seeing to?”

“Maybe,” Buffy shrugged, and then she stepped forward until her feet were on either side of his hips, still licking her ice cream cone. “Take off your shirt.”

 _Bloody hell._ He pulled it over his head, panting with excitement, tucking his hands back behind his head so Buffy wouldn’t see them shaking.

Buffy looked down at him for a long moment, then sank to her knees, until her sweet arse was resting on his thighs, her free hand light on his quivering stomach.

“Can I share my ice cream with you?” she said softly.

“You can do whatever you bloody well want to,” Spike said fervently, and Buffy smiled and took her ice cream cone and painted a long stripe of cold, sticky vanilla right across his chest.

He hissed and arched up, watching her in wonder as she leaned forward and deliberately licked along the trail she had made, little delicate laps of her tongue, until it was all gone, and god, it was perfect, but it was also inexplicable, unbelievable, and he couldn’t help but ask.

“What’s this all about, then?”

Buffy looked down at his stomach, then back up at his face, eyes determined. “I like kissing you,” she said firmly.

“Like kissing you, too,” Spike said. “And?”

“And we’re on a date,” Buffy continued, cheeks pinkening. “And I was thinking of… of more than kissing.”

Spike nodded at that. “As was I. Go on.” He was starting to get the impression that talking about sexual things was not something Buffy had done much.

“And on the carousel, with the ice cream, I was trying…” She trailed off, her face all the way red now, and took another lick of her ice cream before it dripped.

“Trying to get me hot?” There was a big surprise. Spike shifted beneath her, because he was absolutely not above trying to get _her_ hot in return.

“Except it backfired,” she said, eyelids lowered shyly, and then lifted her gaze to him, something warm and honest in them. “It gave me ideas.”

“Do tell,” Spike murmured.

Buffy shook her head, grinning. “No, I don’t think so.” And then she leaned forward again. “I’d rather show you.”

And she did.

She painted his chest with ice cream, dribbles of melt and swaths of pure cold, and she licked every bit of it off, until his chest was sticky and he was shaking and swearing. She sucked on his flat nipples until they were hard and aching, kissed his belly, ran her teeth along his collarbone. And then she sat up primly on his legs, presenting the almost-finished ice cream cone to him.

“Hold this for me?”

He took it from her with quivering hands, watching her like a rabbit watching a hawk, and when she set her hands to his belt, he nearly wept, watching her methodically undo the buckle and unfasten the button and undo the zipper, and when his cock was finally free, she wrapped one hand around it and held out her other for the ice cream cone, and she tipped the melted ice cream out so it ran down his cock, cold and wet, and then her tongue was there, hot and wet, and then she took him into her mouth, sucking the cream off him and he was beyond words, he could only stroke her head and mutter inanities as she sucked and licked and nibbled, and it was all too much and he came with an oath before he even had time to properly savor things; Buffy hummed around him in surprised pleasure, giving his cock a final lick before crawling up Spike’s body, face smug.

He kissed her openmouthed; she still tasted of vanilla, with a hint of himself underneath it all, and Spike closed his eyes and breathed in her scent, holding her as tight as he dared.

*

Spike would have been happy to lie there snuggled with Buffy for hours – except that the bloody calico kitten decided it was done with being shut up and came to sit by Spike’s boots, scratching at the door and meowing piteously. Its yowls were shortly matched by the kitten in the basket, and the cacophony rather destroyed the mood.

“We really should get all three,” Buffy said, voice still smug.

Spike was starting to think he didn’t care if his head _did_ get bitten off, not if the price was a few more minutes curled up with Buffy, but the lady had spoken, and so he fastened his trousers, scooping up the kitten and popping it in to join its mate.

Buffy silently handed Spike his shirt, making a face when it stuck to her hand. “Sorry. Ice cream’s sticky.”

Spike tugged it over her head, grinning at her, because what bloody fool wouldn’t be smiling after _that_ , sticky or not? “Not complaining here.”

Buffy just smiled like the cat who’d eaten the cream. Which Spike supposed she rather was.

They headed off to the gate.

 

[GO TO CHAPTER 91](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981876)


	89. Chapter 89

“Thanks for offering, pet,” Spike purred. “But ‘m not hungry for ice cream.”

Buffy arched against him, resuming consumption of her ice cream cone. “Then what are you hungry for?” she asked leadingly.

Spike cupped her breasts pointedly. “What do you think?”

“Mmmm.” Buffy glanced up at him sidelong. “Well, I wouldn’t want you to starve,” she said lightly, turning so she was draped sideways across his lap, and she arched back over his arm, still licking at her ice cream cone, and he reverently pushed her shirt up to her armpits and set his mouth to her breast.

She tasted like soap and sweat and danger, and he curled his tongue around the sweet berry of her nipple, savoring the sweet moans Buffy was making in the back of her throat. He ran his free hand under the curve of her breast, lifting it to his mouth, and then let it wander her belly and her back and her sweet legs before slowly easing it up the inside of her thigh until he could tease at her panties with his knuckle.

Buffy curled in to kiss the top of his head then, as he sucked on her, and then the ice cream cone came into his peripheral vision.

“Please,” she said in a strangled tone of voice. “Please have a taste.”

Something in her tone of voice made him smile into his breast, and he lifted his head, watching her face as he curled his tongue into the cold ice cream and then bent again, swirling his chilled tongue around her nipple. Buffy gasped loudly before laying back over his arm.

“A… again,” she whispered, and he licked at the ice cream again, bending to her other breast, and this time she laughed shakily, curling her free hand into his hair, and then he eased her back onto the seat, sliding down her body, and she watched him avidly from her elbows as he took another long, showy lick of the ice cream cone in her hand, then bent and tugged her panties down so he could place his cold mouth right on her crotch.

She nearly screamed, stopping it with her hand at the last moment, but Spike wasn’t done yet, not by half; he set his hands to working her panties down her thighs while he licked and nuzzled and sucked at her hot wet quim, and when he had them down to her ankles he caught her thighs and spread them wide and devoured her, using fingers and tongue and teeth to drive her higher and higher until she was clutching at his head and chanting in tongues, and when he thought she was almost there he caught at the wrist of her ice-cream hand, diving up for one final suck of the cold ice cream and then back down to address her hard, throbbing clit, and she arched back and gasped low in her throat, her sweet juices flowing against his tongue, and he savored every drop, licking her clean, and then she dragged him up by his hair and kissed him like he was a bloody hot fudge sundae before snuggling him tight to her bare breast.

Spike wrapped his arms tightly around her waist and relaxed into her.

That, he thought smugly, had been delicious.

“We’re coming in to land,” Buffy said presently. “Better make ourselves decent.”

Spike was still fully clothed, but he gladly helped Buffy reassemble her clothing, until she was looking, if not pristine, at least not naked. While he was thinking about it, he snatched up the black kitten from where it was lounging on the far seat, studiously ignoring their shenanigans. He popped it in the basket with its fellow, ignoring its complaints.

Buffy gave him a quick hug then, just before the attendant came over and unlocked their carriage.

“Two down, one to go!”

 

[GO TO CHAPTER 133](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982806)

 


	90. Chapter 90

Buffy didn’t even bother looking for the kitten once she had Spike back in the little alcove surrounded by game backs; she just grabbed him by the lapels of his duster again and slammed him – lightly, so as not to knock anything over – up against one of the particle board surfaces.

“What the hell was that, Spike?”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Sorry, was that your first time? The French call it _Le Petit Mort_ , which is bloody apropos when…”

Buffy shook him again, flushing. “I know what _that_ was! And it totally wasn’t my first time!” She wasn’t about to admit that, if one counted all those times in the shower, Spike was responsible for more than fifty percent of her orgasms, or that it was more like seventy-five percent if she were totally truthful about a couple of those times in the past, or that the whole thing on the log ride had made her reconsider her definition of “orgasm” entirely because whatever that had been, it had been in a league of its own, making her suddenly understand just why all those dopes in history had been willing to let empires fall just for sex, because there was no _just_ about it.

But she was losing the thread of her conversation. Spike. Shaking. God, he was sexy.

He was looking at her now with a knowing, smug expression on his face, and she scrambled to knock him off balance again. “You think I’m going to let you get away with that?”

He smirked at her, but there was a hint of uncertainty under it. “Oooh. Look at you, Slayer. All worked up and no one to—“

Buffy shut him up with a hard kiss; he returned it just as hard, hands clutching at her shoulders, and then he pulled back and inhaled like he was going to say something else, so she gave him another shake; he laughed.

“Just shut up, Spike,” Buffy growled, and set her hand on his crotch.

That shut him up, all right; he went as still as a statue, eyes searching her face. She bared her teeth at him, giving him one last little shove against the video game before attacking his belt buckle, and he sank back, making a noise somewhere between a laugh and a whimper as she unfastened his jeans. He was deliciously hard and cool, and Buffy took him in her hand, squeezing.

She met Spike’s eyes again and…. She’d vaguely planned on hitting him with a few more quips – ask him if he had anything else to say or snarl some innuendo-laden threat or just tease him for a bit – but he was looking at her with such naked devotion and disbelief and hope, all tangled up with desire, that she lost all her words, just staring at him, chest heaving.

And then he quirked an eyebrow, and she smiled, feeling like the sun had just come out, right there in the eye of the hurricane.

She kissed him again, sweetly this time, but when she began to stroke his smooth hard cock he growled in the back of his throat and they went from tender to torrential in seconds, a storm of lips and tongues and teeth. Buffy ran her free hand hard over his chest and up to shove at his duster, and he grunted and wriggled out of it, letting it fall to the ground as she nibbled at his throat, and then she pushed up his shirt and took his flat nipple between her teeth. He swore bitterly as she kissed and nibbled all along his ribs, and then down his ridged stomach, and by the time she made it down to her destination there was a constant stream of mingled profanities and endearments coming from his mouth. His voice was sending shivers through Buffy’s body – log ride level shivers – but, _god,_ did he want to get discovered?

She glared up at him, curling both hands around his cock. “Shut _up_ , Spike!” And she took him into her mouth.

Buffy wasn’t really sure what she’d expected, but he tasted spicy and coppery and clean, which was somehow a surprise, and she made an involuntary hum of pleasure as she explored his contours with her tongue, swirling it around the head and sucking gently before kissing slowly down his shaft. He had shut up, but his hands were in her hair, tenderly combing out strands, and his body quivered gratifyingly with each new thing she tried, as expressive as his face. She licked long stripes along him, tracing the veins and ridges, and nibbled at his foreskin and pumped him with her hands, alternating sweet tenderness with passion until he was taut as a bowstring, and then she took him into her mouth, as much as she could manage, curling her hands around what she couldn’t, and she pumped him in and out, punctuating with swirls of her tongue and a hint of teeth – and then more than a hint, when he growled encouragingly – and when she had him at the edge of desperation, his hips frantically jerking in rhythm with her motions, she broke rhythm and sucked hard, and he came in her mouth, sharp and salty, and she laughed.

She tucked him away gently, wiping off her face – she really should have gotten extra napkins from the Twinkie stand – and he helped her up and leaned in for a kiss, his lips soft and reverent, before cradling her head against his chest.

Finally, she looked up at him sternly. “There. That’ll learn ya.”

He just laughed softly, holding her a bit tighter. “Yeah. You sure showed me.”

She shut him up again.

*

The Siamese kitten turned out to be curled up asleep behind another game entirely when they finally made their way out of their little haven – which was lucky, because Buffy was not sure she had enough brain left to start kitten-hunting all over again.

“That’s two!” Spike said with satisfaction, tucking the kitten into his basket. “One to go.”

Oh. Right.

Time to start kitten-hunting all over again.

[GO TO CHAPTER 133](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982806)


	91. Chapter 91

Buffy looked around at the assembled Scoobies.

_Holy crap, did a tornado go through here and I missed it?_

Willow and Tara were disheveled, holding hands in a snuggly way that usually meant they’d been making out in the back room of the Magic Box – which probably meant they’d been making out in the carnival’s equivalent of a back room. Xander’s shirt was buttoned crookedly, and he was staring off into space with that goofy grin that signified having gotten The Sex, a conclusion confirmed by Anya’s preternatural neatness – Buffy was convinced Anya had a super-dimensional bag so she could carry her full arsenal of beauty supplies, she always looked so put-together. Giles was… Well, Giles was actually wandering around several yards away, but whatever, he wasn’t actually doing anything useful anyhow, and he too looked a little the worse for wear.

Of course, Spike also looked like he’d been… doing what they’d been doing… and it was pretty likely Buffy herself was a poster girl for Post-Sexytimes Couture, but she held her head high, because the right attitude could make any fashion disaster look intentional. Even sticky, damp, and rumpled.

Buffy was not surprised to find that she and Spike were the only ones who’d garnered a kitten.

“Sorry,” Willow muttered sheepishly. “We didn’t even see the other one.”

“Though what we did see was really interesting,” Tara said, casting a sly grin at Willow, who blushed and glanced quickly between Spike and Buffy.

Anya smiled brightly. “We figured you had the kitten situation under control and did date stuff instead. We were going to try the Tilt-a-Whirl, but when I saw it, it didn’t look fun at all, just like a lot of being thrown around over and over again, all jerky and repetitive. If I’m going to get thrown around and subjected to something jerky and repetitive, I’d rather just have sex, which is jerky and repetitive with orgasms. So we found a nice private utility closet. I’ve been doing yoga, so I wanted to show off to Xander just how flexible—“

“Thank you, Anya,” Buffy cut in. “I think it would be best for all of us if we kept the play-by-play of our carnival sexcapades to ourselves.”

Spike snorted behind her.

Anya sighed. “Well, then, we have nothing to report.”

“Anyone else?”

“Nothing reportable here,” Willow said, smiling crookedly. “Just, um, carnival… stuff.”

“What about you, Buffy? Spike?” Tara said, looking way too innocent. “Is anything you did reportable?”

“No,” Buffy said, keeping her head high. “Nothing… nothing reportable. Except the kitten. We caught a kitten.”

“See?” Anya elbowed Xander. “I told you everyone else was having sex too.”

“Okay then!” Buffy said, possibly a little too loudly. “One more kitten to go. Everyone split up, and we’ll meet back here in… an hour.”

“Not half an hour?” Willow asked.

“No,” Buffy said slowly, glancing sidelong at Spike. “I definitely want an hour.”

*

Once all the Scoobies had gone their separate ways, Spike sauntered up to Buffy, catching the hem of her shirt.

“An hour, eh?”

She raised her eyebrows. “I didn’t think half an hour was long enough.”

“Long enough for what, pray tell?” He cast a glance up at her that managed to be both wicked and vulnerable at the same time. How did he do that?

Buffy took a deep breath and looked him square in the eye. “Long enough to catch that stupid kitten, and then find someplace private.” She smiled slowly. “After all, you heard Anya. Everyone’s having sex.”

Spike laughed, short and incredulous, face soft and open for the barest moment before it shifted into naughty confidence.

“Should’ve made it two hours, love,” he remarked casually. “Or maybe five.”

“One will do for now,” Buffy shot back. “We still need to see if you’ll make it worth my while.” Which, okay, they both knew was an empty threat, because _damn_ , but Buffy was kind of thinking a bed might be nice for some of those promised hours. Especially since she conveniently owned one, along with a currently-empty house. It seemed silly not to take advantage of it.

Spike shrugged as if it made no difference to him. “All right then. Fancy another treat?”

She rolled her eyes. “What, again?” Though now that he mentioned it, she was feeling kinda grazey…

“Now, Slayer,” Spike said cajolingly. “You can’t tell me you’re not hungry after all that… activity. Chasing kittens. Licking—“

“Okay, Spike. Buy me a treat. Just… stop talking.” His voice was driving her demented, the kind of demented that led to Extreme Public Displays of Affection.

 “Got better uses for my tongue any road,” he said easily.

“As do I,” Buffy said, because damned if she was going to be the only one off-balance here. She regarded the array of carnival food before her, pondering….

 

What treat does Buffy choose?

Deep-Fried Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough [GO TO CHAPTER 74](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981438)

Cotton Candy [GO TO CHAPTER 16](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20979263)

Snow Cone [GO TO CHAPTER 134](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982824)


	92. Chapter 92

A snow cone sounded light and refreshing after all the rich foods she’d already indulged in, and Buffy went extra-indulgey and got blue raspberry, which she loved but always avoided because it turned her tongue blue.

She had a feeling Spike didn’t care what color her tongue was as long as it was involved in kissing him.

She joined him at the picnic bench he’d claimed, sitting on his lap.

He tucked his hands around her waist, looking up at her in amusement. “What’s this all about, then?”

“What? The bench looks sticky.” She virtuously took a bite of her snow cone.

He shifted her on his lap, and well! Obviously Spike was all set for Buffy’s one-hour plan, which was good because so was she, her body tingling with awareness of his every movement, the feel of his hands on her hips and the hard length of his cock under her thighs and just the way he was looking at her, hungry and amazed at the same time.

 “See any sign of the kitten?” she asked casually, pulsing her hips against him.

Spike’s hands tightened on her hips. “Not a hair. Though I’m thinking that shed behind the Zipper seems a likely spot.”

“For the kitten to hide?”

He pressed a chaste kiss to her shoulder. “For privacy.”

Buffy took another bite of refreshing raspberry ice. “You do realize that if we get this kitten thing squared away, we then have the rest of the night off. We can do whatever we want, for as long as we want.”

Spike narrowed his eyes. “Whatever we want?”

She shrugged, looking off into the distance and giving another pulse of her hips. “That’s what I said.”

“Right, then!” He took her by the waist and set her on her feet, springing up beside her. “Let’s find that kitten!”

*

Anya was torn as to which carnival attraction they should try next, but then she saw a sign that made her squeal.

“Well, it’s a good thing you did all that vomiting earlier! Look!”

Xander obediently looked over at the sign that read _PIE EATING CONTEST! FABULOUS PRIZES!_ and groaned, which Anya easily interpreted as an ecstatic ‘yes’; she took him by the hand and dragged him into the contest tent.

Ten minutes later, she watched happily from the edge of the stage as Xander sat in the row of contestants, hands tied behind his back, a cherry pie in front of him. He had dragged his feet when they’d first entered the tent – poor baby must still be feeling queasy – but his eyes had goggled out at the table of prizes, which had as the grand prize a diamond bracelet. The second and third place prizes were nothing to sneeze at either, but that bracelet was just obviously meant for Anya’s slim and graceful wrist, and he had gladly signed all the paperwork for entering the contest and forked over his ten-dollar entry fee.

Anya glanced over at the bracelet now, feeling a bit wistful. She and Xander had talked a bit about other diamonds, specifically the fact that she really, really, _really_ wanted an engagement ring, but he’d hemmed and hawed and stalled and finally just come out and said that he _did_ want to marry Anya, but not until he’d gotten a little more money in the bank and possibly grown old enough to legally drink the champagne toast at his own reception, which made sense to her, though you’d think the stupid laws would be flexible about newlyweds, at least when one of those newlyweds was Anya, whose actual lived years averaged out with Xander’s to more than twenty _times_ the drinking age. But he’d then gone on to point out that being married and having kids would probably mean toning down the sexcapades, and that had made even more sense to Anya, because she was _so_ not ready to hang the handcuffs up forever. So she’d agreed that waiting would be good, and when she thought on it later, she reminded herself that Xander was still really young, that even though they were the same age in body she herself had centuries of experience on him, and so maybe he did need to grow up just a bit before tying the knot.

But that was all water under the bridge now. Anya had revised her five-year plan to a ten-year plan, adjusted her investments accordingly, and she was going all out in enjoying their freewheeling sexy young lovers’ lifestyle, making sure she got as much living in as possible before she had to pack it all away and start selling Mary Kay and going to PTA meetings.

She was really going to miss those handcuffs.

She was jolted out of her musings by the starting bell, and looked up to see Xander burying his face in his pie.

She couldn’t really see what he was doing, because the pie was in the way, but that meant he was doing it right, getting his tongue in and turning his head from side to side to get as much pie as possible without any wasted movement, and Anya shivered, because imagining what his tongue was doing to the pie made her then imagine his tongue doing those very things to her, which she knew from experience was a really, really good thing. That was the nice thing about having a boyfriend who liked to eat; he was a blue-ribbon-gold-medal champ at oral sex.

And possibly a champ at pie tonight – he was the first to lift his head, jerking his chin for more as he chewed, and then he was buried in the next pie and Anya was buried in her fantasies again.

It was a close contest – the guy down at the end was a Sepulva demon, which Anya privately thought wasn’t fair, given the second stomach – but she had faith in her man, and when the final bell rang and the judges investigated each final plate, attendants untying the contestants’ hands, her faith was vindicated. They raised Xander’s arm overhead in victory and he beamed down at her, face covered in cherry goo.

God, she loved him.

*

“Oh, darnit! Not another Pidgey!”

Andrew pouted in frustration as he stared at the screen of his Very Smart Phone. He’d just managed, through wily strategy and a mean curveball, to capture a Great Pokémon of Legend, and he had thought he was on his way to bigger and better things, truly destined to become the Greatest Pokémon Master of All Time. The Very Best, Like No-One Ever Was. How was he supposed to do that if he had to keep wasting his time on frickin’ _Pidgeys_?

 _Ah, well_ , he sighed in resignation, sitting down on a bench so he could do his Pokémon Master duty. _It is not by great deeds alone that wars are won…_ Was that a quote from somewhere? It really should be. He made a note to write it down later for his memoirs, just in case it was an Andrew Wells Original.

“That’s right, little Pidgey,” he crooned, lining up his Poké Ball. “You may just be a little chick in a big future-mall, but together, we can change the world….”

“Whatcha got there?”

Andrew looked up from his Very Smart Phone to see Jonathan looking down at him curiously. “Nothing!” he said hastily, shoving the phone in his pocket. “Just, you know. Nintendo.”

Warren strolled up then, and Andrew gave him a suspicious glare. Future Andrew had warned about Jonathan and Warren, but Andrew had a sneaking suspicion that Warren was the evil mastermind behind the nefarious plans of which he now had foreknowledge. Which made him both kinda hinky and kinda cool.

 _Not as cool as Future Me_ , Andrew reassured himself. Warren didn’t even have a leather duster. He just wore, like, T-shirts and flannels.

“So, you coming over for games this weekend?”

Had Warren’s voice always been that oily? “Maybe,” Andrew hedged. “I might have chores.”

“Well, you can always come by tonight. This carnival kinda blows, we were heading home in a bit. Interested?”

“Maybe,” Andrew mumbled again, but Warren clapped him on the back like he’d just given an enthusiastic _yes_.

“All right! We were going to go grab some chili-bacon-jalapeño dogs, you in?”

“No, uh… jalapeños give me gas.”

Warren laughed, too loudly. “Whoa, yeah, let’s not go there before the big game session then. My parents’ basement doesn’t have any ventilation. How’s about we meet you at the entrance, then? Say twenty minutes?”

Andrew didn’t even have a chance to answer before Warren and Jonathan, the Evil Duo of Future Evilness, strolled off towards the food stands.

“I’m not going,” he muttered to himself, pulling out his Very Smart Phone and staring at it glumly. The Pidgey had long since flown. He hadn’t even gotten to see the amusing little puff of smoke. There weren’t any other Pokémon around to catch, either.

He sat on the bench, all alone.

*

Buffy caught a glimpse of the black kitten just a few minutes later, darting into big striped tent that dominated the midway. The sign outside the tent had a huge cheery picture of a clown with balloons and bubbly letters proclaiming _FUN CLOWN SHOW! THREE TIMES A DAY! AN AMAZING EXPERIENCE THE WHOLE FAMILY WILL ENJOY!_ It listed multiple showtimes, the latest one – Buffy glanced at her watch – two hours previous.

Spike shuddered beside her. “Bloody kitten, picking the scariest tent in the whole bloody fair.”

Buffy looked at him askance. “You’re scared of clowns?”

“Not scared,” Spike backpedaled. “Just hate ‘em. Everybody hates clowns. Even clowns hate clowns.”

She nudged her shoulder into his. “Careful there, Spike. Pretty soon I’ll know all your weaknesses.”

He looked down at her for a long moment, then shrugged. “Might as well.” He rolled his shoulders. “We going in?”

“Well, I can handle clowns, unless they’re played by Tim Curry. And we need that kitten, right?”

She didn’t wait for an answer, slipping through into the tent.

The tent was rectangular, aluminum bleachers set up on three sides around a roped off center that was covered in sawdust and littered with broken balloons and a couple of rubber chickens. (Buffy hoped they were rubber. She didn’t put it past this place to use real dead chickens in their acts.) The fourth side had a brightly-painted wooden mural set up, presumably as a backdrop for the performance. Right in the middle of the mural was an opening the size of a garage door; the black kitten was just disappearing into the shadows of whatever lay beyond.

With a quick glance at Spike, Buffy vaulted over the ropes and followed the kitten.

The opening led to a wooden-panel-lined corridor that in turn led to another tent with a wide square flap entrance; a little trickle of light limned the three edges of the tent flap.

“Careful,” Spike said in a low voice. “There might be clowns.”

Buffy rolled her eyes and slipped inside.

There were no clowns; instead the tent seemed to be the green room, three walls lined with bins and racks of clown-act supplies. In the very middle, with plenty of space around it, was parked a Volkswagon Beetle – not the creepy new model, the old one from the Seventies – that looked like it had been painted by the Electric Mayhem. The windows had been painted or covered with something on the inside so they couldn’t see the interior. A dressing room mirror and makeup counter was along the back wall, the encircling bulbs lighting the tent.

“Well,” she said. “Looks like we found the Evil Clown Supply Tent.”

Spike came up behind her, setting his hands lightly on her hips. “A shame all the clowns seem to have gone home. That leaves just the two of us.”

“And the kitten,” Buffy pointed out.

“Bugger the kitten,” Spike said, kissing her shoulder.

Well, she was on board with that.

She turned around so he could kiss her properly.

*

Willow and Tara stopped partway along the midway to watch a street magician who had set up a table between the arcade and the churros stand.

He was good, making balls and coins disappear and reappear with such alacrity and showmanship that Willow frowned. “Is he using real magic?”

Tara shook her head. “Just sleight of hand. Can’t you feel it?”

Willow smiled sheepishly. “Sorry. I’m not really as sensitive as you are.”

“Here.” Tara wound her fingers in Willow’s more tightly, letting her eyelids flutter closed. “Tune in with me.”

Oh, Willow loved when Tara would do this, open up her soul so the two of them could kind of flow together, attuned to each other and to the world around them; she closed her own eyes and let go.

The world was more beautiful through Tara eyes – Willow only got a pale shadow of it, but the passersby were suddenly glowing with all the colors of the rainbow, and the earth beneath their feet seemed to hum, and she turned her Tara-eyes on the magician, and she could see it now, how his aura was all-over the same, without the tingles and zips that Tara had taught her meant magical energies were at work.

“What’s that grey patch, right at the middle?” she whispered.

Tara looked over at her then. “Hunger. He… he probably hasn’t eaten for a while.”

Willow shook out of the trance, looking at the magician again with her own eyes. Now that she knew to look for it, she could see that his hands were trembling slightly. The battered top hat on the ground in front of his table had only a few dollars in it – probably his own, left there as a suggestion.

With another glance at Tara, Willow dug into her purse. She didn’t have a lot, though, and wouldn’t until financial aid for the fall came in. Tara added her few dollars to the fund, and they tucked them into the hat with a smile.

“That’ll get him something tonight,” Willow said with satisfaction.

“And tomorrow?” Tara’s eyes were worried.

Willow looked at the passersby, who were barely glancing the magician’s direction. “It’s a shame nobody’s watching. He’s really good.”

Tara gripped her hand tightly again. “We could help.”

“Could we? That wouldn’t upset the balance? Or upset him?”

“We won’t do anything to his act. He’s good enough that if people just look, they’ll enjoy. And we won’t _make_ anything happen. We’ll just… ask.”

They stepped off out of the path, between two tents, and Tara took both of Willow’s hands in hers, closing her eyes. “He just needs people to look, right? So we’ll call upon the light.”

Willow nodded and closed her own eyes, feeling the energies surging up through her feet from the earth, through Tara’s hands and back, around and around and around, all connected and natural, flowing like water, and she could feel Tara with her, their hearts synchronizing and their souls embracing, and together they sent out their humble request to the light, and the light answered.

There was a gasp from the crowd, and they peeked around the edge of the tent to see a brilliant lightshow following the magician’s movements. A passing family stopped to look, and then a couple, and then more, until he had a small crowd. The lightshow faded quickly, but they had been right – once the magician had an audience, they liked what they saw, and money started to come to his hat – not a magical rain of coins, like Willow might once have tried to create, but honest money given freely for honest entertainment.

“There,” Tara said with satisfaction. “That was a good thing.”

“You know what else is a good thing?” Willow said slyly, tugging Tara back between the tents. “You.”

Their magic was better without a crowd.

*

Giles stumbled wearily onward. He had found a spigot, a sink, and a water fountain, all of which had refused to yield water when he approached, and had finally lowered himself to wiping his glasses on the tail of his shirt, only to find that the candy floss had hardened like epoxy, resisting all his efforts to wipe or scrape it away, and so he had resigned himself to near-blindness, holding his glasses in his hand as he wandered through the indistinct blobs of the fair, hoping against hope that one of the blobs would turn out to be Buffy.

The fair was most definitely evil, and he felt she should know.

He tripped again, and his glasses flew out of his grasp, landing on the ground in front of them. There was no sound of shattering, though, so he crouched down and felt around until he found them, resting in a pile of something soft.

He lifted his glasses and looked ruefully at their new coating of brown.

“Elephant dung. Perfect.”

*

As the kissing heated up, Buffy started to get frustrated, because really, there was only so much they could do standing up, especially with one hand occupied with her snow cone, which was starting to melt. Finally, she broke away, glaring up at Spike.

“How about we wrap up the vertical and get on with the horizontal?”

His eyes flared, and he scanned the tent. “Not a lot of flat surfaces available, pet. Don’t think that makeup counter’s strong enough to hold the kitten’s weight, much less yours.

Buffy scuffed a toe through the sawdust that covered the floor. “This stuff looks worse than sand.”

“You know, I’m quite strong, and you’re very athletic. We can just stand here, I’ll lift you up and…”

Buffy shut him up with a glare. He sighed.

“Well, I guess there’s only one option then.” He patted the hood of the VW. “What d’ya say, love? Ever had sex in a clown car?”

 

Get in the clown car?

Yes [GO TO CHAPTER 37](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20980469)

No [GO TO CHAPTER 72](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981372)


	93. Chapter 93

Spike’s heart almost started beating when Buffy caught hold of his duster, keeping him from following after the kitten.

“Stay,” she said softly, and so he stayed, looking down at her, not sure how to read her voice. When she gave another tug at the leather, he sat down beside her.

She turned to him, face serious. “We can track down the kitten in a bit. And you know what? There’s always going to be something else to chase. Another demon ritual to crash. Another apocalypse to avert. And sometimes… Sometimes I just have to stop running, you know? The universe isn’t going to give me moments of my own, time to laugh or talk or… or love. I have to take them.” She looked down for a moment, then cupped his cheek in her free hand. “I’m taking this moment.”

Spike looked down at her, a thousand words coming to his lips, but then she was kissing them, drinking all his words away, and he fell into her like she was the ocean, vast and deep, beautiful and deadly, kissing her until she was gasping for breath, his hands stroking sonnets into her skin.

Then she pulled away, eyes wicked. “Also,” she said in a too-casual voice. “I have to finish my snow cone before it melts.” And she turned away and started primly licking at her snow cone.

God, she was infuriating. And bloody intoxicating. “Could help you with that,” he murmured, draping an arm about her slim shoulders.

“Really?” She batted her eyelashes at him. “Thank you, kind sir!”

He took the paper cone out of her hands. “Take your shirt off, love.”

If he’d had breath to hold, he’d have been turning blue when she finally set her jaw at a challenging angle and whipped her shirt off over her head, baring her delightful breasts, and he lost himself in staring for a moment before shaking himself back into the game.

“Now the skirt.”

She stood and unzipped it, letting it fall to the floor, and before he could even ask, shimmied out of her panties, unzipping her boots along the way so she was standing before him, gloriously naked, proud and defiant and visibly aroused.

He tore his eyes away from her glistening quim and grinned up at her, patting the crate beside him. “Now lie back and think of England.”

She rolled her eyes at that, but seated herself on the edge of the crate and slowly eased back onto her elbows. “Why England?”

He shrugged, stirring up the snow cone with the little plastic spoon until it was a soupy blue slush. “Time was, ladies weren’t supposed to enjoy sex. Problem with that is, growing empires need bodies, and if ladies don’t have sex, you run across a shortage of sprogs to grow up into empire-building adults. So these lovely chaste ladies were told to think of their mother land while their husband was taking his solitary pleasure, to comfort them through the unpleasantness.”

“Yeah,” Buffy snarked. “Times have changed. Why am _I_ supposed to think of England?”

He smiled down at her, feeling radiant. “Because I owe my very existence to England.” He leaned in closer, pushing her all the way flat. “And I expect you to be very, _very_ grateful for my existence in just a few moments.” And he dropped a spoonful of ice on her chest.

She gasped, and then sighed as he licked the bit of ice up, and then hummed in appreciation when he popped the next spoonful in her mouth – it was her nummy treat, after all – and then he took a bite himself, and while the ice was still in his mouth he bent down and sucked her nipple right into his mouth, his cool tongue pushing the colder ice around and around until he relented and sucked it all off.

Another bite for her, and another for him, her hand clutching at his head as he savored the raspberry flavor and the sensation of her tight hard nipple against his tongue.

He offered her another bite and she waved it away. “You… you can have it,” she gasped. “You can have it all.”

And he took it all, eating delectable spoonsful of ice off her trembling belly, and out of the hollow of her throat and off her quivering thighs, and when he was down to the very dregs of the snow cone he took it all in his mouth and planted his mouth right over her clit, licking through the icy sweetness once, twice, and then she came against his tongue, the flavor of Buffy overwhelming the sweet raspberry, and he dropped the empty paper cup and scooped his hand under her thighs, devouring her spendings gleefully.

“Now,” she whispered, and now it would be, but as he was sitting on his heels unfastening his belt buckle, she suddenly rolled so that she was on her belly, her legs dangling down and her sweet perfect arse right at the edge of the crate, and she looked at him over her shoulder, eyes dark and limpid. “Like this.”

His fingers stopped working for a moment, but then they moved twice as fast, unfastening his trousers and freeing his painfully-hard cock, because bugger, she was looking at him and twitching her behind and spreading her legs and every second of delay was like dying all over again, but finally he was fitting himself to her entrance, driving home with an exultant sigh, and she let out a little _oh!_ of pleased surprise, tilting her hips back to meet him, and he was lost.

Bugger, she was warm and slick and snug and she pulsed around him, clenching and releasing with the rhythm of his thrusts, and he just barely had the presence of mind to get his arm between her hips and the hard crate, tucking his hand in to stroke at her clit as he fucked her, and bloody hell, he was trying to hang on, but she kept making the most delicious noises, little mewls and whimpers and gasps of pleasure, and each one was like tinder to the fire, driving him faster and harder, and then she clenched around him as she came, and it was by god the closest to heaven he thought he might ever be; he drove into her tight, shuddering wetness again and again, and as she collapsed bonelessly over the crate he tensed with his own orgasm, feeling he was pouring every part of himself into her, like he was the bloody virgin sacrifice on the altar, and then he fell forward on top of her, pressing drunken kisses along the beads of her spine until she rolled over and took his face in her hands and kissed him, relaxed and sensual, before snuggling into his shoulder, panting.

When her breathing had returned to normal – and he’d remembered that he didn’t need to breathe, so why the bloody hell was he panting along with her? – he pressed a single chaste kiss to the top of her head. “I love you,” he said softly, laying his head right on the chopping block.

“I love England,” she murmured sleepily, snuggling into his chest.

Bugger.

What the hell did she mean by _that?_

*

After a bit, Buffy started to shift as if she were uncomfortable – which she likely was, this being a crate in a bloody storage tent and not a posh feather bed at The Goring – which in turn meant that Buffy’s stolen moment was probably due for an end. Spike gave each bit of her beautiful nakedness a farewell caress before she covered it up again, matter-of-factly cleaning up and tucking himself away, finally donning his duster. Which could probably use a good cleaning, but Spike wasn’t so fastidious he couldn’t wear it.

“So,” he said bracingly. “Kitten.”

“Yeah,” Buffy said absently, apparently lost in thought.

Spike headed towards the tent opening the kitten had darted out of, resigned to a long hard slog through all the tents and attractions they’d seen before, then stopped in his tracks. There the Siamese kitten lay, curled up and fast asleep in a little hollow beneath the tent ropes.

He snatched it up and held it up like an offering to Buffy, who brightened. “That’s three!”

“About bloody time,” Spike muttered, though he was grinning.

After all, he’d just shagged the most beautiful, deadly, glorious, and infuriating woman in the world. And it had been bloody fantastic.

He might _never_ stop smiling.

 

[GO TO CHAPTER 94](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981942)

 


	94. Chapter 94

Spike headed back towards the entrance with Buffy, strolling past games and rides and through the concessions, feeling on top of the world, his arm draped around his lady, his debts about to be paid, awash with afterglow from the most fucking brilliant shag he’d ever experienced… Yeah, things were turning up aces for old Spike.

“Just a sec,” Buffy smiled up at him. “I need to hit the ladies’ room.”

He grinned cheekily. “I’ll bet you do.”

She rolled her eyes. “God, you are going to be impossible to live with.” She turned and strolled away before he could ask her what the bloody hell she meant by _living with_ because, well, it was a bit sudden, was all, and while he was completely on board with it, or at least the implied-regular-sex part of it, he was rather fond of his crypt, and there was the Niblet, and…

“Well, hello, Mr. Spike.”

Spike stiffened at the sound of the oily voice, glancing up at the food truck he was standing in front of – lush images of fried foods and a grinning shark in sunglasses, topped with a row of primary-colored flags that read _SHARKY’S FRY KING._ “Let me guess,” he muttered sardonically as he turned. “Sharky?”

His loan shark stood before him, tailored suit crisp, flanked by a pair of vampire heavies. Spike sensed more room-temperature bodies closing in behind him, cutting off his avenue of escape. _Bugger_.

“What can I say,” Sharky breezed, baring his double rows of razor-sharp teeth. “My mother’s cooking, it’s to die for.”

Spike nodded genially. “Well, it’s a good thing you’re here. Was just about to look for you.” He was about to say more, about how he had his loan payment, two kittens interest and a kitten towards principal, but the words stuck in his throat, and he looked down at the lidded basket over his arm, brow knitting in confusion. Why didn’t he want to hand over the bloody things?                                                        

Sharky regarded him impassively. “Pity you’re already late.”

“What?” Spike glared at him, still not ready to hand the kittens over but irate that he might not get the choice. “You said this evening.”

“I said by nine o’clock, Mr.  Spike. It is now precisely nine-oh-five.”

“Oh. Huh. Is it?” Spike shrugged, glancing around as if unconcerned, trying to gauge how many heavies were behind him. “Well, let’s not argue about five minutes here and there…” And he scarpered.

Or at least he attempted to. He didn’t even make it two steps before some flunkies caught him, twisting his arms behind his back. One of the hefty dimwits – Spike hadn’t met this one but he knew the type Sharky preferred – took the basket and presented it to Sharky like the crown jewels. He gestured to have the basket set on the ground behind him, and turned back to Spike. Spike struggled to get free, but Sharky had gotten some extra-big ones this time – felt like a demon in the mix back there too, from the scales – and he hadn’t the leverage to escape.

The loan shark strolled over, sucking his tongue. “You know my policy, Mr. Spike. No extensions.” He bared his sharp, head-chomping teeth. “No exceptions.”

One of the vampires holding Spike’s arms crumbled into dust.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” came Buffy’s voice from behind the cloud of ash. “Am I interrupting something?”

The dust cleared, and there she was, a stake in each hand, like an avenging angel. She blinked at the sight of Sharky.

“Wow. Are they filming a new B-movie? Jaws meets Goodfellas? ‘Cause I gotta tell ya, I think you might have jumped the shark.”

Spike struggled against his remaining captors, watching helplessly as Buffy faced his deadly business associate.

Sharky seemed amused. “And you are?”

“Oh, you don’t know?” Buffy casually staked the vampire flunkie who’d been trying to flank her. “I’m Buffy, the girl whose date you just butted into.”

Spike stopped struggling, watching in awe as she took out another beefy vamp bodyguard. God, she was glorious.

“Stop slacking off, Spike!” she shouted before cartwheeling a kick into another bodyguard, and then she grinned at him, eyes dancing. “You’re the one who wanted a bit of the _rough and tumble_!”

Spike grinned back, and struggled until he got an arm free, clocking one of the guys behind him with an elbow to the nose, and then it was on, a good old-fashioned brawl, fists and fangs; after a bit he realized Buffy was at his back, fighting in tandem with him, and they were as good together in battle as they were in bed – or, well, what they’d substituted for a bed – moving in perfect rhythm.

Eventually, the flunkies stopped coming, and he and Buffy stood victorious, panting and bruised in the middle of wafting clouds of dust and a couple of demon corpses; somehow in the midst of the hubbub, the Sharky’s stand had disappeared, along with Sharky himself.

Spike looked down at Buffy, and she looked up at him, and… bugger it all, he couldn’t resist. He swept her into his arms, snogging her mercilessly right there in the middle of the food trucks, and she wrapped her arms around him, kissing him back with reckless passion.

And then she pulled back, laughing up at him. “You were right, Spike,” she grinned. “Best. Date. Ever.”

The basket of kittens still sat there on the ground; Spike let go of Buffy to go scoop it up, peeking to make sure all three were still inside.

Buffy frowned. “Wasn’t that the head-bitey guy? I thought you had to give him the kittens.”

He shrugged. “What can I say. Grown rather attached to the little buggers.” He eyed Buffy’s gloriously sexy dishevelment. “Got all sorts of… memories associated with them now.”

She raised her eyebrows. “You’re going to have pet kittens.”

“What?” Spike muttered defensively. “Can have a bloody pet if I want to.”

Buffy opened her mouth like she was going to argue, then shrugged. “Okay then. As long as you don’t expect me to scoop the litter box.”

Spike blinked. “What’s a litter box?”

Buffy tucked her arm in his. “Oh yes, you’re going to _love_ having a pet.”

*

“I am happy to announce that Spike and I have taken care of the kitten situation,” Buffy said, smiling around at her friends.

“You still have the kittens,” Anya pointed out.

“That we do, that we do.” She tried very hard to keep a straight face. “Spike is going to keep them.”

“Had pets before,” Spike said loudly, before any of the Scoobies had recovered from their shock. “Can have pets and still be bad.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Yes, Spike. Nobody is casting any aspersions on your vampireness here.” Her glare dared any of the Scoobies to complain. “Willow, do you and Tara still have all your cat gear?”

“Yeah,” Willow said, looking sad. “We just couldn’t bear to get rid of it yet. Plus, Dawn felt so guilty, and we wanted her to think we were going to get another someday…”

They all took a respectful moment of silence for Miss Kitty Fantastico, object lesson in crossbow safety.

“So,” Buffy said after a bit. “Could you maybe… take the kittens home with you tonight? I can take Spike shopping for his own stuff tomorrow night.”

“Can we keep one?” Tara’s eyes lit up.

Spike looked grumpy, but nodded. “Suppose you could have one. But I have visiting rights, yeah?” He handed the basket over to Willow.

“Okay then, did everyone have a good time at the carnival? Yes? Ready to head home?” There was a general affirmative murmur, and Buffy turned to lead the way to the car.

“Excuse me, Buffy,” Giles interrupted. “Haven’t you forgotten something?”

“Forgotten so…” Buffy frowned. “Giles, what the heck is that on your glasses?”

“It’s not important,” he muttered self-consciously. “What I mean to say is, my investigations turned up incontrovertible evidence that this funfair is indeed _evil_.”

“Oh. Sorry, I guess I got distracted from the whole take-down-the-evil-carnival thing.  You know, cotton candy, rides…” _Mindblowing sex…._ “That sort of thing.”

“So what do you intend to do about it?”

Buffy frowned in thought. “Well, we’ve been all over this carnival. Did anyone see anything that seemed unusual? Like it didn’t fit in?”

Willow shrugged. “No, everything seemed pretty carnival-ey. All bright and sparkly and lit up…”

“Except that tent,” Tara pointed out. “It’s got a really creepy aura.”

They all turned to look. There, hidden in the shadows just to the side of the entrance, was a simple black tent, maybe ten feet square, and now that she was looking at it, Buffy could almost see what Tara meant – the air seemed to ripple in front of it like heat waves. She stomped over and took hold of the tent flap, pulling it aside.

“Oh, bugger!” the man behind the curtain sputtered, rising to his feet.

“Ethan Rayne. I might have known,” Buffy said silkily, then frowned. “Or actually, I might not have known. Weren’t you locked away in a secret government facility?”

“Funny thing,” he smirked. “Seems when a certain government initiative was defunded, word came down from on high to release any prisoners that might be… _embarrassing_ , shall we say. And really, who was I to argue?”

“Whatever,” Buffy shrugged. “You shouldn’t have come back to Sunnydale, Ethan.”

“No, that probably was not wise,” he said calmly, and then made a break for it, crashing into that weedy kid from before, who was standing just inside the carnival entrance fiddling with his Nintendo-thingamabob. The device slipped from his grasp and flew to the ground.

“No!” cried the teen, falling to his knees and picking up the slim flat device. Buffy glanced over to see that it was cracked. “You killed it!”

But Buffy didn’t have time to mourn the untimely demise of an electronic game; she raced after Ethan, taking him down with a tackle.

“Don’t know why you’re so cut up,” Ethen grunted as she wrestled his hands behind his back, tying him up with a rope Xander retrieved from Giles’s car. “You know you had a lovely time at my funfair.”

Buffy set her knee firmly into the small of his back. “Yeah, I did. And I really appreciate the fact that you took good care of your animals.”

“What can I say?” Ethan shrugged. ”I may worship Chaos, but I’m not _that_ evil.”

“Still,” Buffy said, standing up and dusting off her hands. “That doesn’t change the fact that this carnival is bad news. I’m afraid we’re shutting you down.”

Ethan smiled up at her, a sinister cast to his eyes. “Oh, but it’s not over yet. Trust me.”

 

How many times have you been through the story and reached this chapter? (BE HONEST!)

One [GO TO CHAPTER 38](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20980490)

Two [GO TO CHAPTER 118](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982449)

Three [GO TO CHAPTER 40](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20980550)

Four or more [GO TO CHAPTER 136](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982875)


	95. Chapter 95

Buffy snatched the word “tiger” out of the air. It dissolved in her hand and she grinned up at the demon defiantly.

The demon’s eyes glowed and its arms writhed in a hypnotic dance, tendrils of glowing green energy winding out from dozens of fingertips, ghosting around Buffy and Spike and the Scoobies. Buffy could feel darkness washing over her, no matter how she fought it, and she sank down and down and down…

And they were standing in the middle of the menagerie, her and the demon and Spike, with the lions roaring over their dinner on one side and some zebras frolicking on the other, and right behind her, a high fence. She nodded to Spike, and he nodded back, and they each took one of the demon’s arms jerking it off balance and then into a run and then they heaved and flung the demon right over the fence.

It landed in the middle of the tiger enclosure with a meaty thud.

The sounds that followed, after the tiger discovered their present, were even meatier. And kinda gross.

Buffy watched just long enough to be sure the demon was dead, and then took Spike by the arm.

“Come on,” she said brightly. “I think we have some punishment to mete out.”

Buffy turned back to Ethan Rayne, who had stopped trying to look suave and was just furious.

“So,” she said brightly. “Got any more trinkets I need to destroy?”

Ethan laughed nastily. “The Cho’a Demon’s effects aren’t eliminated so easily. They will continue to suck you in, making you loop through the fair over and over until the energies dissipate. Who knows how many times you’ll be forced to face my brilliant creation?”

Buffy shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll beat it every time. And that also means I’ll get to punch you in the jaw over and over. I have a sneaking suspicion that, even though _we’ve_ been forgetting all the time loops, _you_ , as the wizard who cast the spell, will get to remember every single one. Am I right?”

The look in Ethan’s eyes was all the answer she needed. God, she hoped the next time through she went for the groin.

She turned to Giles. “Got any ideas what to do with him?”

“I believe I could make a few phone calls, when I am once again able to read the numbers on a telephone. There are groups that could ensure he is properly… restrained.” He shrugged. “Failing that, I’m quite willing to give him a good thrashing myself.” He muttered something under his breath about knowing the weaknesses of the Cho’a demon very well indeed, if only anyone had ever bothered to describe the bloody thing.

“Sounds like a plan.” Buffy lugged Ethan off to Giles’s convertible.

“Buffy, I suspect the trunk is too small for a man of Ethan’s…” Giles trailed off as Buffy folded Ethan into the tiny trunk and shut it decisively. “Well. I suppose it’s not a very long trip.” He took his glasses off, squinting at them ruefully. “Xander, perhaps you should drive.”

Xander nodded, licking the last bits of cherry pie filling off his fingers.

“Oooh! Shotgun!” Anya’s hand shot up.

Giles glared in her general direction. “I will not squeeze into the back seat of my own vehicle like a bloody sardine.”

Anya’s face fell. “Four people in the back seat isn’t any fun if Xander’s not there. Even if he does take up half the space.”

Buffy sighed. “It won’t be four people. I’ll walk back to town.”

“Buffy, are you sure?” Tara asked with a worried frown. “We don’t mind being a little smooshed.”

“Nah, it’s good.” Buffy smiled, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s no more than I usually walk on patrol. You all go ahead and I’ll catch up. Just save some of the pummeling for me, ‘kay?” Because really, why wait until the next time around to go for the groin?

Buffy waved cheerily as the Scoobies piled into the convertible, the basket of kittens settled securely onto Willow’s lap, and drove off down the road.

That weird kid, the one Spike had crashed into earlier in the evening, gathered up his broken device, and approached her warily. “Buffy Summers?”

Now that she had a good look at him, he seemed familiar. “Do I know you?”

“I’m Andrew. From Sunnydale High?” Her confusion must have shown on her face, because he flushed. “Tucker’s brother.”

“Oh.” That… was not a recommendation. She waited patiently for him to say something else. Then, when he remained silent, impatiently.

Finally, he looked away. “Yeah. So… Thanks for beating up that guy. He cracked my Very Smart Phone. That was so not cool”

“Your phone is smart?” Buffy looked at the little palm-sized device, confused.

“But I checked and it still works, so… thanks.”

“You’re welcome?” Maybe he wasn’t all bad. At least he was polite.

Another vaguely-familiar guy came up and clapped him on the shoulder. “So. Wanna go play some video games?” Buffy noticed Jonathan, of all people, hovering on the fringes; he gave her a little wave.

Andrew glanced back at Buffy, then glared at the new guy. “Go away, Warren. You just want people to help you take over Sunnydale, and I’m not in. You can go play with yourself.” And then he walked right past Warren to Jonathan.

“I’ve got something really cool to show you. Let’s go to your place. Your mom lets us sit on the couch.” He glared back at Warren one last time, then departed with a slightly-befuddled Jonathan in tow. Muttering in frustration, Warren headed off in a different direction.

Buffy watched them all go, then stretched her arms wide and took in deep lungsful of the night air.

“You’re walking, are you?” Spike stepped forward into her peripheral vision.

She shrugged casually. “Better me than any of them.” She started on her way.

He fell in beside her. “So. We’ve been going through the funfair over and over, yeah?”

“Yep.”

“How many times do you think we…?” She couldn’t see his face, walking next to him, but she suspected he was leering wickedly, from the tone of his voice.

Buffy laughed. “Who knows? Maybe this was the only time. Or maybe….” She took a deep breath, let it out. “Maybe it always happened. Maybe it was inevitable.” She suddenly took his hand, winding her fingers in his. “Maybe it would have happened even without the carnival.”

They walked in silence for a while, the sounds of the carnival fading behind them, but when the night was almost silent, the nocturnal sounds almost drowning out the faint hint of music, Spike gave Buffy’s hand a tug and stepped in front of her, looking at her with a thousand expressions at once, hope and terror and elation and confusion all mingled together in that way he had, so the expression was just… Spike.

“That last thing you said,” he growled. “Been trying to suss it out all this time, and I’m still muddled. Mind explaining?”

Buffy looked down at their joined hands. “Yeah. So, tonight was… well, it was a thing. Kind of a big thing, for me.” She looked up at him, suddenly afraid. “It… it was big for you, too, right?”

“Yeah,” Spike said, voice strangled. He cleared his throat, then repeated the word more clearly. “Yeah. It was big.”

She sighed, relieved. “So I was thinking it was sudden, that it came out of nowhere, but then I realized… it really didn’t. This thing, whatever it is, it’s been growing for months, like… I dunno, maybe a vine? All climbing up into us like a trellis. And tonight, it’s like all the flowers burst into bloom at once, and you look at them and think _wow, flowers!_ like they’re something brand new. Except… they were growing into flowers all along, you know?”

“…I know.”

“And I knew it was growing,” Buffy continued. “I could feel it, and I knew what was coming, but I was… I was scared. Because I didn’t know that they were going to be beautiful flowers. I kept thinking, what if they’re, like, skull flowers? Or poisonous? What if they’re all Little Shop of Horrors and eat people? What if they’re like those really smelly flowers, the ones that smell like a decaying corpse – aren’t they called corpse flowers? – and I actually know what that smells like, it’s really gross, and—“

“Buffy,” Spike interrupted. “I think you might be straining the analogy.”

“Am I?”

“Yeah, a bit.” He took up her other hand, gently. “And you’re babbling.”

Buffy huffed in frustration. “Okay. Sorry, I’m a little nervous. Um… where was I?”

“You were scared of the flowers.”

“Right.” She took another deep breath. “So anyhow, the flowers turned out to be beautiful, and now… now I’m not scared anymore.” She looked up at him, squeezing his fingers. “Now I can say it.”

“Buffy, I—“

“Shut up, Spike,” she said gently.

He looked at her sardonically. “That’s what you were waiting to say? You say that a dozen times a—“

Buffy silenced him with a kiss.

Their hands were still intertwined by their sides when she withdrew, and she tucked Spike’s hands behind her waist before sliding her own up his chest and around his neck, because she wanted him to be paying attention for this part.

Her voice was clear and confident. “I love you, Spike.”

He looked at her like she was a mirage, then groaned and wrapped his arms around her.

“Say it again,” he whispered into her hair.

She said it again, and again, but when he begged for a fourth time, she pushed out of his arms, laughing. “I think we’ve repeated enough things tonight, don’t you?”

Spike’s face suddenly hardened. “That Ethan bloke, he said it wasn’t over. That we’d get pulled back in and repeat the bloody funfair more times, until the energies dissipated.”

“Yeah, so?” Buffy took Spike’s hand up again and started walking down the road, reminded that there was still pummeling on the evening’s agenda. Which wasn’t as good as kissing Spike, but still was not to be missed.

He stalked along next to her, tense. “So we’re gonna forget this, yeah? Like we forgot all the other times. And then the last time through, that’s the one that’ll stick.” He ran his free hand through his hair angrily. “What if… what if we don’t end up with this?”

Buffy turned to him, cupping a hand around his cheek. “Spike. Did you miss the part where I said inevitable?” She firmed up her hand, just enough that he knew she was serious. “The evil carnival didn’t make this happen. _We_ made this happen, all summer, and if in the very end it doesn’t happen at the carnival? It’s still going to happen.” And she kissed him until he believed her. Or at least as long as she could before coming up for air, but she was pretty sure from the look in his eyes afterwards that she’d made him a believer.

They started walking again, and soon they came upon Spike’s ancient black car.

Spike dropped Buffy’s hand and jogged a little ahead, opening the shotgun door for her. “Give you a ride back to town?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” she said lightly, sliding onto the bench seat and fastening her seatbelt. When he slid in behind the wheel, she unfastened it again and slid over to the middle, fastening _that_ seatbelt and snuggling up while he started the ignition and shifted into drive.

He rested his arm around her shoulders gingerly, like he thought she was a balloon that might pop at any moment. “So,” he said casually. “Any plans for the rest of the night?”

She shrugged. “Was planning on staying in for at least two hours.” She took hold of his hand, tugging it more securely around her. “Or maybe five.”

He laughed shortly, squeezing her shoulder. “All right then.”

Buffy cuddled into Spike as he drove the DeSoto down the road, leaving the lights and sounds and tastes of the carnival behind them forever.

Or at least until the next adventure.

THE END

 

Congratulations on helping Buffy and Spike solve the mystery of the Carnivorous Carnival! Would you like to try again? [Go to Chapter 1!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20978552)

[Read the Author’s Notes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20983016)


	96. Chapter 96

Buffy slid her hands down to cover Spike’s as they caressed her.

“Are you sure that was technically a scream?” Oh god when had that become her voice, that low sultry growl?

Spike laughed against her shoulder, kissing the side of her neck. “You’re right love. Not my best work.” His hands hardened against her, and she gasped. “I’ll do better next time.”

Buffy shook free of his grasp and stepped away, turning to look at him, feeling solemn as a churchgoer. He spread his arms wide like a penitent, offering himself, and just looked back at her.

“You’ll do better now,” Buffy said, letting her voice be hard, and Spike laughed again, shaking his head in shocked wonder, eyes somehow soft. She planted fists on her hips, jerking her chin at him. “Duster. Off.”

Eyes locked on hers, Spike shrugged the leather off his shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

“Now the shirt.” He grasped the hem of his shirt, eyes wild, and she clucked her tongue at him disapprovingly. “Slowly,” she said in a voice like steel, and he complied; his stomach was quivering. He tossed the shirt on top of his duster, stretching sinuously before setting his hands to his belt buckle.

Buffy held out a hand. “No, not yet. Boots first.”

He bent over, tugging swiftly at the laces and kicking the boots off to one side; he wore no socks underneath, and for some reason his bare feet seemed sexier than his bare chest. She deliberately let her eyes travel up his body all the way to his face, and – ah, yes, that was why. He seemed vulnerable, his eyes full of bravado and arousal and a hint of trepidation, and it made her feel both powerful and tender, knowing he was braced for hurt and wanting to soothe it away. Which was… yeah, a little weird for her. But it was also true.

She didn’t realize how long she’d been looking at his face until he lifted his eyebrows. “Belt now?” he said, amused.

“Oh. Um, yes. Belt.” God, she was feeling vulnerable now too, like she was raw and half-baked.

Spike unfastened the belt buckle, then pulled the belt out of the loops, coiling it meditatively and placing it off to the side, as if he were setting it aside for later. Which, Buffy thought with a sudden shiver, he probably was, and she imagined all the things they could do with a belt, things she had always thought only bad girls did, except…. This was it, she was planting her flag. She was a bad girl now, here in this mirrored room at least, and oh god she needed his hands on her now, except no, the jeans, the jeans first, she needed him naked, and so she put her own hands on herself, clutching at her breasts and catching her nipples hard because she had had enough of the slow burn, she was darn well _baked_. Spike looked up from the belt on the ground and growled and lunged in her direction, but she took a step back.

“No,” she said harshly, tossing her hair. “Off.” Which she supposed was not the clearest order ever, but she was down to monosyllables and Spike didn’t seem to have any trouble understanding anyhow because he got the jeans off in what had to be record time and then he was standing in front of her, hands clutching her shoulders, looking down at her with a question in his eyes, and she grinned an answer up at him and then he kissed her like a blow, and she fought back joyfully, clashing and dueling, her hands still kneading her own breasts as she arched her belly against his hard cock, until he took her by the shoulders again and spun her around so she could see herself in the mirrors. Her lips were swollen and her hair was a mess and then his hands were over hers, urging her harder, faster.

His lips were at her ear then, and he whispered her name, once, twice, then suddenly his arms were around her waist as he just held her, crushing her close. “God, I love you,” he murmured into the nape of her neck.

Buffy stilled, sinking into his embrace, because… well, she’d known, of course. He’d told her, back before she had trusted him, and she’d known even after she’d grown to trust him, just from the look in his eyes and the way he said her name, but it was still frightening to hear it, here where they were laid bare to each other, where her reflections were watching her, knowing eyes ready to catch her in a lie. “I…” she began.

“I know you don’t,” Spike interrupted. “It’s all right. You don’t have to…. Just let me make love to you.”

And Buffy couldn’t finish what she’d been starting to say, couldn’t even think what it was she had been saying, because the only word she could say now was _yes_. And she said it, and said it again, because that at least she was sure of.

Spike swore harshly into her throat, then glided his hands over her body again, except the frantic urgency was gone now, replaced with sure purpose. “Say my name,” he rumbled against her back.

“Spike,” Buffy said softly. Then, because it was softer and she wanted to be soft, here in this moment, she whispered his other name. “William.”

He made a strangled noise, between a laugh and a sob, then walked her forward until she was right in front of one of the mirrors, taking her hands and placing them on the edge. “Say it again.”

Buffy knew which he meant. “William,” she said softly, and smiled into the mirror, just where she knew his eyes should be. “Make love to me, William.”

She’d expected him to catch her up in his arms, lay her down upon the ground, but instead he wedged his knees between hers, spreading her booted feet wider, and he ran his big hand all through her wetness from behind, front to back – and god, he had her so worked up she nearly screamed just at that – and when she realized his intentions her legs shook like an earthquake, she’d never, never before, but she wanted, god how she _wanted,_ and she tilted her hips back to meet him as he fitted his cock to her and plunged deep.

She cried out at that, low and guttural, and Spike chuckled against her back as he began to move, thrusting into her at a slow, measured pace. “What about that one?” he asked, voice ragged.

Buffy shook her head slowly, matching his pace, watching her own eyes in the mirror. “Nope,” she managed. “Try again.”

He curled one hand around her belly, then down to stroke at her clit while he glided in and out. “Think I could use some guidelines, love,” he said, grunting when she clenched around him. “Define _scream_ for me.”

Buffy was having trouble thinking in words, but she’d be damned if he was going to out-banter her, and so she mustered an offhanded laugh. “A scream is… _oh god._ Higher pitched. And louder.”

“Hmmm,” Spike rumbled into the nape of her neck, then did something evil with his fingertips, thrusting hard and deep, and Buffy came again, and oh god, the sensation of him filling her as she convulsed around him was incredible, but she gritted her teeth, only letting out a harsh grunt, which didn’t feel ladylike at all, but the way Spike jolted at it made her think it was probably okay.

There was a crackling sound, and Buffy’s eyes flew wide to see her hands had shattered the edges of the mirror, cracks spreading out like spider webs.

Spike caught her around the waist, stilling. “Bugger. Fingers all right?”

Buffy looked at her hands impatiently. “Not a scratch.” She reached out to the mirror again.

“None of that,” Spike said firmly, and then he slid out of her and turned her and pressed her down, until she was on her hands and knees on the pile of his clothes, and then he wedged his knees between hers and thrust into her again, and god, if she’d known what this would feel like she’d have lured Spike into a funhouse months ago, because the reality of being taken from behind – _fucked_ from behind, Buffy corrected herself, because oh god that was the right word for this, she felt thoroughly _fucked_ – was so much not what she’d ever imagined, piercingly carnal and yet blindingly tender, the way Spike was caressing her as he thrust into her, his hands and lips sweet as cream.

She wondered dizzily if she could make _him_ scream.

The thought filled her with wicked purpose, and she matched his rhythm, clenching tight around him when he was at his deepest, milking his cock as he pulled out, and oh that felt amazing, she did it again, and again, and he was swearing now, fingers back on her clit pressing hard and then she was screaming after all, a true scream, high and loud and uninhibited, and he thrust and thrust and thrust into her convulsing pussy until he shouted with his own release, collapsing on top of her for the barest moment before rolling to his side, keeping her spooned close, his cock still half-hard inside her.

“Now, that was a scream,” he said firmly, a short while later.

Buffy nodded. “Yours too.”

Spike pressed a tender kiss to her shoulder, snuggling her closer. “Dunno. I’d classify that more as a manly cry of victory.”

“It was a scream,” Buffy said decisively, wriggling into a more comfortable position. “A manly scream, but a scream nonetheless. I made you scream.”

Spike shrugged, tucking his folded arm under her head as a pillow. “’M not convinced,” he said quietly, curving his hand suggestively around her belly. “You’ll just have to do it again.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Well, yeah.” He buried his forehead in her neck. “Wouldn’t you?”

Buffy thought for just a bit, but she knew the answer all along. “Yes,” she whispered softly.

*

Wonderful as the cuddling was, it was hard to get around the fact that they could not spend the rest of their lives naked in the Hall of Mirrors, so eventually they disentangled themselves from each other, gathering the scattered pieces of their clothes. It was weirdly mundane, and decidedly surreal – watching Spike pick up an article of clothing in reality, and watching the clothing disappear in the mirror at the same time.

“How does that work?” Buffy asked, after watching Spike’s shirt vanish into thin air.

“What?”

“The clothes. They have a reflection… and then they don’t.”

Spike shrugged, tugging the shirt over his head. “Dunno. It just does.” He sauntered over to her and slipped his arms around her waist, kissing her shoulder. “Cameras work too, and I hear tell they involve mirrors of some kind. My considered opinion is that it’s not the mirror, it’s something about the human brain looking at the mirror.”

Buffy frowned thoughtfully. “So maybe, like, cats can see vampires in mirrors?”

Spike grinned into her shoulder. “Maybe. But here’s something that’s certain.” He released her and took three swift strides, reaching behind a corner. “ _Vampires_ can see _cats_ in mirrors.” And he scooped up the calico kitten. It mewed sleepily.

“And kitten makes three,” Spike said with satisfaction.

 

[GO TO CHAPTER 94](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981942)

 


	97. Chapter 97

The kitten dashed out of the tent and Spike followed, grumbling a bit at the perfect scenario for shagging they were leaving behind, while still feeling giddy and uplifted at the fact that Buffy seemed to actually care what happened to him. What was up with that? And was it just the way she cared for any of the Scoobies, Xander or Willow or Giles, or was it something more?

Well, he was pretty sure she hadn’t done any of the things they’d been up to this evening with any of the other Scoobies – if she had, they’d likely be dead, way the slayer burned – but it was always possible he was just a Scooby-with-benefits.

And that was all right by him – he’d gladly spend his whole existence being _beneficial_ to Buffy’s sweet body – but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want more, and lying was one of those things he was putting effort into not doing so that he could stay by Buffy’s side, so it behooved him to be honest even with himself, just to keep things straight in his head.

He wanted more than just this one night.

He just didn’t know how to get it.

Buffy was leading the way, gingerly picking her way through tent ropes in pursuit of the kitten as she took the occasional nibble at her snow cone, and he watched her as he followed, brow furrowed, considering various options.

Chaining Buffy up: Bad. He’d got that message loud and clear.

Tying her up was thus also probably Bad. Pity, that. Perhaps she’d be more amenable if he were the one bound… ah, but that was looking too far ahead. He was fair certain Buffy wasn’t the type to tie up a bloke, at least not until the… fourth date? Maybe third. God, he hoped so.

Dru had always been partial to gifts, but Buffy wasn’t one for dollies, or orphans, or still-warm hearts, and while she might accept chocolates or jewelry he had a sneaking suspicion they wouldn’t be convincing, not the way he wanted to convince her.

He briefly considered changing up his look, going for a bit of… who was that fellow she liked on the telly? George Clooney? But she’d likely get all up in arms about where he’d got the money for the togs, and she’d be right to, because bugger if he was going to spend his actual money on looking like _that_. Bad enough he still had his bloody boring Finn ensemble taking up space in his armoire. Now _there_ had been a bloody brilliant move…

Sex might work – and he was certainly willing to ply her with it – but again, no matter how hot he made her, how loud she screamed in ecstasy… all that passion was in her. She didn’t need him to burn like the sun. She could get that anywhere. (Well, perhaps not the other Scoobies, as they were quite fragile. But _else_ where, that was the point.)

The more he thought on it, the more he despaired, because… there really wasn’t anything he could do. She might love him someday, or she might not, and he couldn’t do a cursed thing to make it happen, except what he had been doing. Be by her side, fighting the good fight, and wait.

It was bloody unfair, that there wasn’t some combination-lock on Buffy’s heart that he could figure out or pick or bloody break, something simple he could just _do_ , but… Well, he didn’t _want_ that. He wanted her to open it for him, of her own free will. He wanted, god help him, to be _chosen_.

Bloody white hats. They’d bloody well infected him, is what, and now he was ruined for all normal relationships.

The kitten led them a merry chase, between tents and behind rides, before finally going to ground in a little brick shed under a rollercoaster. Both of which – the brick and the coaster – seemed a trifle impossible for a fly-by-night carnival, but it was pretty well certain by now there was some sort of magic animating the bloody place. Spike slipped in the door behind Buffy, scanning the confined area for the pesky Siamese. It seemed to be a combined control and break room, with a stiff-looking couch and kitchenette along one wall and a panel of instruments along the other. Buffy moved to the center of the room, turning slowly in a circle, eyes narrow as she sipped the last dregs of icy syrup from her snow cone.

Spike had just spotted the kitten – perched high on a cabinet – when a klaxon blared out from the instrument panel, a red light over the door blinking. When the alarm fell silent, a voice rang out from hidden speakers; Spike couldn’t be sure, but it sounded like the Snyder wanker who’d been taking tickets at the rides.

“All employees are advised that, due to routine roller coaster maintenance, the control room will be on lockdown until maintenance is complete.”

Buffy’s eyes flew to Spike’s. “Lockdown?”

 _Bugger._ He dashed towards the kitten while Buffy dashed towards the door, dropping her empty paper cone on the concrete floor, but they were both too late. The kitten jumped out of reach, letting out an unearthly sound that probably passed for a meow, and Buffy’s hand had just touched the door handle when the door slammed shut. A metallic _thunk_ echoed through the tiny room as deadbolts slammed into place.

“Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me!” Buffy yelled at the door. “This is the stupidest evil carnival EVER!”

Spike cracked his knuckles. “Shall we break it down?”

Buffy did whack a fist against the door, but not with her full strength. “We can’t. What if there’s people still riding the rollercoaster? We’re right under the big hill. If we knock out the supports….”

“Right.” Bloody buggering _fuck_ , he hated being closed in. “How long you think we’ll be locked down, then?”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Well, gosh, let me consult my Evil Carnival Timetable and see!”

“No need to get snippy, Slayer.”

“Just shut up, Spike.” Buffy stomped over to the couch, sitting down with a huff. Naturally, the Siamese kitten chose this moment to emerge from hiding, jumping up into her lap and starting to purr. With a grouchy sigh, she scratched under the kitten’s chin.

Cautiously, Spike strolled over and took a seat beside her. After a moment, he reached over and fondled the kitten’s ears, just to have something to do.

After a bit, she sighed. “Sorry I snapped at you, Spike.”

An apology? Oh god, was she _ill_? “’S all right, Buffy. No need to…”

“But there is a need,” Buffy interrupted earnestly. “We’re on a date. That… that means something.”

“Does it?”

“And even when we’re not on a date, you’re one of the gang.”

“Am I?” Had they crossed over into some bizarre alternate universe?

Buffy went on, as if his faint, disbelieving questions were completely rhetorical. “I mean, I can’t just go around getting smoochy with you one minute and then treating you like trash the next.”

Spike blinked, thinking of Drusilla. “Actually…”

She looked up at him then, eyes huge. “I don’t want to be like that, Spike.” Suddenly her hand on the kitten was next to his, fingers mingling in the fur. “I want to be nice.” Her voice was low and filled with promise.

He edged a bit closer. “So, here’s my question.” God, he actually felt dizzy, like he needed oxygen, even though he hadn’t needed air at all for more than a century. “Just how _nice_ do you want to be?”

Buffy smiled then, slow and certain. “Very nice,” she murmured. “Very, _very_ nice.”

Spike’s hand clasped hers on top of the kitten – which hissed at them and jumped off her lap to stalk off somewhere. He didn’t care where. “Here’s the thing, love. I’m not at all certain I want you to be _nice_.”

She blinked. “No?”

He looked her in the eyes. “I’d rather you be _bad._ ”

Buffy grinned at that, a blinding flash of teeth. “Oh. Well, that could also be arranged. I can totally be bad.” And then she lunged, and she was astride Spike’s lap, arms draped over his shoulders. “Very… _very_ … bad.”

Spike let his head fall back against the couch cushions, looking down his nose at her, because she was by god the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, every part of her, from her ridiculous little nose down to her patrol-calloused feet, brilliant and exciting and deadly, and he still couldn’t help but push. “Show me,” he said at last, infusing those two words with all his desire and all his love and all his need.

God, did she show him.

She began by just kissing him, which shouldn’t have been exciting after all the things they’d been doing along the twisting path to this locked room, except it was, every brush of her lips like a miracle, especially since she was clearly toying with him, finding his weaknesses and exploiting them shamelessly, until he was straining up against her, halfway to coming just from the touch of her lips.

And then she sat back on his knees and swept off her shirt.

Spike was prepared to beg, but Buffy was apparently feeling very nice indeed, because she just took his hands in hers and placed them right over her breasts, rubbing her hard nipples into his palms, and he didn’t need any more encouragement than that. She set her hands on his knees for support as he loved her breasts, arching her back to press into his touch, and then she regarded him with those big green eyes of hers and lifted an eyebrow and licked her lips pointedly, and he scooped his hands into her armpits and lifted her to his mouth, and god she tasted like sin and redemption all at once, her nipples growing harder under the attentions of his tongue, her sweet voice gasping as he sucked and nibbled and was as bad as he could be, and then she pushed him back into the couch, eyes sleepy with desire.

“Take off your shirt,” she said softly, and when his hands left her to grasp the hem, she somehow tucked her feet under her, on each side of his thighs, and stood, booted feet sinking into the couch cushions, looking down at him like a queen. She unzipped her skirt and let it fall, and then shoved down her panties, awkwardly stepping out of them, unsteady on the soft footing, and then she was gloriously naked, standing athwart him like the bloody Colossus, and he stared and stared before finally remembering to remove his shirt.

She stayed standing, hands on her hips, and nodded as he tossed his shirt aside. “Now the jeans.”

Spike couldn’t watch what he was doing, not with Buffy naked and demanding right in front of his eyes, but his hands somehow managed to unfasten his belt and pop the button and undo the zipper enough that he could arch up and shove the trousers down his legs, and Buffy didn’t even wait for them to reach his knees, just sank right down, right into his lap, taking his cock in her hand and guiding it right into her and oh god he was inside, and it was like nothing he’d ever felt, so hot, so bloody _hot_ , and she sank and sank until he was as deep as he could go, and then she wrapped her arms around him, holding him close and still for a long moment.

And then she squeezed around his cock, tight as a vise, and whispered, “Now isn’t this _nice_?”

He tried to reply, but all that came out was an inarticulate groan. She laughed softly.

Spike tried again. “Nice enough, yeah.” That came out all right, if a bit strangled. He took hold of Buffy’s waist. “You gonna fuck me like a bad girl?”

Buffy wet her lips, eyes uncertain. “How… how does a bad girl f-fuck?” Bloody hell, that hesitant obscenity stabbed right into him, making his cock twitch; she felt it, too, eyes widening, then narrowing in thought.

He started to pump into her, his hands on her waist guiding the motion. “Dunno. How does a _good_ girl fuck?”

Buffy put her own strength into the motion, somehow managing to look prim even as she shagged. “Good girls make love.”

“So,” Spike grinned. “They fuck, but they’re ashamed of it.”

Buffy stared at him, eyes wide.

Spike held her hips in place, pulsing slowly inside her. “Don’t be ashamed,” he said in a hard voice. “You’re bloody glorious, and you’re good to the core, and you can fuck me any way you bloody well want.” And then he let go of her hips, like releasing a bird into the wild.

She looked at him for one moment longer, then smiled, and began to fly.

She started out simple, rocking against him in a slow inexorable rhythm, pressing light kisses into the side of his neck, but then she set her hands on his shoulders, urging him lower, and he slouched down further, and she leaned back, setting her hands on his knees and peering down her body with a serious look on her face, watching as his cock slid slowly in and out of her. Spike had to watch too, he couldn’t look away, and it was unbearably erotic, seeing his cock glistening wet, disappearing over and over into her incredible heat, every bit of her spread open to his sight, and feeling every ounce of it. He set one hand reverently on her and found the hard nub of her clit with his thumb, stroking, and she let out a shocked gasp and shuddered and clenched around him.

She sat up then, holding him close as she pulsed in aftershocks, kissing him sweetly, and Spike knew then that he was a liar, because he was by all that was unholy _making love_ , here and now, and yet there was no shame, not in any of it, he was utterly shameless, and he looked at Buffy with his naked heart in his eyes.

She pressed a serene finger to his lips. “No shame,” she said softly, and then she pushed him back into the couch, and oh god she _was_ shameless, riding him with abandon, and he surrendered to her, holding on to her hips for dear life, until she did something _bad_ , something very, _very_ bad, he wasn’t even sure what it was but it was brilliantly bad, and it sent him right over the edge. He came so hard he was honestly surprised when he came back to himself and he wasn’t dust.

When he managed to open his eyes, Buffy was looking down at him, smug as the cat that ate the cream.

“Bad enough for you?” she said sweetly.

He grinned back up at her, feeling wild and reckless. “Dunno, pet. Got any other bad ideas?”

She lifted her eyebrows. “Maybe,” she conceded, glancing over at the door. “How long do you think we’ll be stuck in here?”

“Anywhere from two more seconds, to all eternity.” Off Buffy’s sharp look, he shrugged. “Circus _is_ evil, yeah?”

Her face shifted into a smile that Spike could only describe as _wicked_. “Well, seeing as we may or may not be on a tight schedule… we’d better get started.”

And oh, was she bad.

*

Much more than two seconds but much less than an eternity later, they were startled out of an exhausted post-coital doze by the klaxons sounding and red lights flashing and that incredibly annoying voice announcing that the lockdown was over, concluding with a sneered and insincere “Have a nice day.” The door popped open.

“Bugger,” Spike groaned into Buffy’s shoulder, kissing it while he was there. “Thought we’d have time to cause a bit more property damage.”

Buffy looked around them sleepily, expression somewhere between guilty and satisfied. “There’s property left to damage?”

“There’s that end table,” Spike pointed out, surveying the wreckage of the couch, desk chair, and filing cabinet.

“True,” Buffy yawned, rolling off him and digging into the heaped couch cushions, coming out a moment later with her polka-dot panties.

Spike was about to retrieve his jeans from the corner when a flash of movement caught his eye; he barely managed to snatch up the Siamese kitten before it dashed out the open door.

“Nice catch,” Buffy laughed behind him; he turned to see her frankly ogling him. “Also, nice ass.”

“Think you mean _bad_ ass,” Spike grinned as he stuffed the kitten into the basket with its fellows. “And there we have it. Three down.”

Buffy threw his shirt at him. “Time to go.”

They dressed quickly, but Spike hesitated when Buffy was standing in the doorway ready to go; she looked back at him inquiringly.

 _Bugger, might as well just say it._ “I love you.”

Buffy looked at him for a long time, a thousand unreadable expressions crossing her face before she settled on a gentle smile. “Thank you,” she said softly.

And bugger if that didn’t feel… nice.

 

[GO TO CHAPTER 94](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981942)


	98. Chapter 98

A snow cone sounded light and refreshing after all the rich foods she’d already indulged in, and Buffy went extra-indulgey and got blue raspberry, which she loved but always avoided because it turned her tongue blue.

She had a feeling Spike didn’t care what color her tongue was as long as it was involved in kissing him.

She joined him at the picnic bench he’d claimed, sitting on his lap.

He tucked his hands around her waist, looking up at her in amusement. “What’s this all about, then?”

“What? The bench looks sticky.” She virtuously took a bite of her snow cone.

He shifted her on his lap, and well! Obviously Spike was all set for Buffy’s one-hour plan, which was good because so was she, her body tingling with awareness of his every movement, the feel of his hands on her hips and the hard length of his cock under her thighs and just the way he was looking at her, hungry and amazed at the same time.

 “See any sign of the kitten?” she asked casually, pulsing her hips against him.

Spike’s hands tightened on her hips. “Not a hair. Though I’m thinking that shed behind the Zipper seems a likely spot.”

“For the kitten to hide?”

He pressed a chaste kiss to her shoulder. “For privacy.”

Buffy took another bite of refreshing raspberry ice. “You do realize that if we get this kitten thing squared away, we then have the rest of the night off. We can do whatever we want, for as long as we want.”

Spike narrowed his eyes. “Whatever we want?”

She shrugged, looking off into the distance and giving another pulse of her hips. “That’s what I said.”

“Right, then!” He took her by the waist and set her on her feet, springing up beside her. “Let’s find that kitten!”

Neither of them noticed the lean figure that watched them from the shadows as they set off on their quest.

*

Anya was torn as to which carnival attraction they should try next, but then she saw a sign that made her squeal.

“Well, it’s a good thing you did all that vomiting earlier! Look!”

Xander obediently looked over at the sign that read _PIE EATING CONTEST! FABULOUS PRIZES!_ and groaned, which Anya easily interpreted as an ecstatic yes; she took him by the hand and dragged him into the contest tent.

Ten minutes later, she watched happily from the edge of the stage as Xander sat in the row of contestants, hands tied behind his back, a cherry pie in front of him. He had dragged his feet when they’d first entered the tent – poor baby must still be feeling queasy – but his eyes had goggled out at the table of prizes, which had as the grand prize a diamond bracelet. The second and third place prizes were nothing to sneeze at either, but that bracelet was just obviously meant for Anya’s slim and graceful wrist, and he had gladly signed all the paperwork for entering the contest and forked over his ten-dollar entry fee.

Anya glanced over at the bracelet now, feeling a bit wistful. She and Xander had talked a bit about other diamonds, specifically the fact that she really, really, _really_ wanted an engagement ring, but he’d hemmed and hawed and stalled and finally just come out and said that he _did_ want to marry Anya, but not until he’d gotten a little more money in the bank and possibly grown old enough to legally drink the champagne toast at his own reception, which made sense to her, though you’d think the stupid laws would be flexible about newlyweds, at least when one of those newlyweds was Anya, whose actual lived years averaged out with Xander’s to more than twenty _times_ the drinking age. But he’d then gone on to point out that being married and having kids would probably mean toning down the sexcapades, and that had made even more sense to Anya, because she was _so_ not ready to hang the handcuffs up forever. So she’d agreed that waiting would be good, and when she thought on it later, she reminded herself that Xander was still really young, that even though they were the same age in body she herself had centuries of experience on him, and so maybe he did need to grow up just a bit before tying the knot.

But that was all water under the bridge now. Anya had revised her five-year plan to a ten-year plan, adjusted her investments accordingly, and she was going all out in enjoying their freewheeling sexy young lovers’ lifestyle, making sure she got as much living in as possible before she had to pack it all away and start selling Mary Kay and going to PTA meetings.

She was really going to miss those handcuffs.

She was jolted out of her musings by the starting bell, and looked up to see Xander burying his face in his pie.

She couldn’t really see what he was doing, because the pie was in the way, but that meant he was doing it right, getting his tongue in and turning his head from side to side to get as much pie as possible without any wasted movement, and Anya shivered, because imagining what his tongue was doing to the pie made her then imagine his tongue doing those very things to her, which she knew from experience was a really, really good thing. That was the nice thing about having a boyfriend who liked to eat; he was a blue-ribbon-gold-medal champ at oral sex.

And possibly a champ at pie tonight – he was the first to lift his head, jerking his chin for more as he chewed, and then he was buried in the next pie and Anya was buried in her fantasies again.

Five pies in, she frowned. Shouldn’t the contest be over by now? Xander’s eyes when he’d come up from that last pie had looked a little crazed. She pulled out the sheaf of papers they’d been handed when Xander had signed up for the contest, scanning until she found the section headed _WINNING CONDITIONS_.

“This contest will be concluded when all contestants have perished except for three. The survivors shall then be ranked according to the number of pies they have consumed. Should all contestants perish…” _Oh god._

She leafed through the rest of the pages, looking for withdrawal conditions, an escape clause, anything, but the papers were ironclad.

Xander was trapped in a Pie-eating Death Match.

She looked up at him on the stage, gamely devouring his sixth pie, noting absently that at least two contestants had already fallen and were being dragged away from the tables. He lifted his head briefly and grinned at her, eyes sparkling, teeth gleaming through the cherry goo.

She smiled back at him, shaking her fist encouragingly. “Go, Xander! You can do it!”

And oh, how she hoped he could.

*

Buffy caught a glimpse of the calico kitten just a few minutes later, darting past a couple of orange-striped barricades into a huge, bright wooden building. It was painted in every color of the rainbow with images of clowns and balloons and oddly-colored animals – _a purple giraffe?_ – and the whole thing was lit up with thousands of lights, though it seemed a lot of the lightbulbs needed replacing. Huge blinking letters across the front of the building read _FUNHOUSE_. Painted banners winding through the chaotic mural promised _WACKY HIJINKS! HALL OF MIRRORS! SLIDES! UPSIDE-DOWN ROOM! HALL OF HORRORS! BARREL OF FUN!_ Despite the lights, a huge sign in front of the barricades read _ATTRACTION CLOSED FOR RENOVATION_.

Buffy grinned up at Spike. “You up for some fun?”

He curled his tongue behind his teeth. “Always.”

They followed the kitten into the funhouse

*

Willow was headed off down the midway, Tara’s hand in hers, when she spotted Giles stumbling awkwardly near the hot-dog stand, and she rushed over to see what was wrong.

“I have to find Buffy,” Giles said, sounding a little extra-stressed. “I have incontrovertible proof that this fair is evil.”

“Really? Proof?” Willow looked around, thinking it looked just like any carnival ever.

“Just look at my glasses,” Giles said mournfully.

“Oh. Wow. Yeah, that’s… that’s not good. But you can clean them off, can’t you?”

“No handkerchief. No napkins. Any running water I’ve been able to find mysteriously stops running when I am near. I have even tried the tail of my shirt, but this bloody candy floss…. It’s evil, Willow. We have to find Buffy.”

Tara pointed. “They just went in there.”

Willow turned to see a brightly colored funhouse. “Well, we’ll just follow them. The funhouse doesn’t look that big. I’m sure we’ll catch up soon.”

She took one of Giles’s arms and Tara took the other, and they guided him past the barricades and through the door.

*

“Oh, darnit! Not another Pidgey!”

Andrew pouted in frustration as he stared at the screen of his Very Smart Phone. He’d just managed, through wily strategy and a mean curveball, to capture a Great Pokémon of Legend, and he had thought he was on his way to bigger and better things, truly destined to become the Greatest Pokémon Master of All Time. The Very Best, Like No-one Ever Was. How was he supposed to do that if he had to keep wasting his time on frickin’ _Pidgeys_?

 _Ah, well_ , he sighed in resignation, sitting down on a bench so he could do his Pokémon Master duty. _It is not by great deeds alone that wars are won…_ Was that a quote from somewhere? It really should be. He made a note to write it down later for his memoirs, just in case it was an Andrew Wells Original.

“That’s right, little Pidgey,” he crooned, lining up his Poké Ball. “You may just be a little chick in a big future-mall, but together, we can change the world.”

Swipe. “Darnit, missed!” His Very Smart Phone vibrated, signaling the arrival of another Pokémon. _Soon_ , he promised the newcomer. _Soon you too will be mine._

His phone vibrated again as he swiped, making his next Poké Ball veer off course.

Another miss.

Another.

 _Goshdarnit, Very Smart Phone! Quit vibrating already!_ He swiped and missed, swiped and missed, gritting his teeth, and suddenly… he was out of Poké Balls. Completely out. _End of Line._

“I’m not wasting a Great Ball on _you_ ,” he groused at the Pidgey on his screen, which was smugly preening its wings. He testily pressed the button to leave the capture screen, so he could see just what had interrupted him.

For a moment he thought his screen had malfunctioned, because instead of the soothing green map, it was all a mottled orangey-brown, but then he realized… it was Pidgeys. Lots of Pidgeys. A whole flock of them, gathered around the feet of his little Pokémon Master avatar, and as his mouth gaped open he heard a sound behind him that made his blood run cold.

A chirp.

He turned slowly. There behind the bench, ranged across the roof of the churros stand, were dozens – perhaps hundreds – of fat brown birds, their beady black eyes regarding him intently.

“Oh,” he squeaked, slowly rising to his feet. “I, um… _Wow._ ”

The mass of Pidgeys quivered expectantly at his words. Possibly hungrily.

“Oh god,” he whimpered, starting to back away. ‘I didn’t mean it, I…” He held out his Very Smart Phone like a shield. “I’ll let them all go. All of them. Um… except the ones I transferred to the Professor for his crazy experiments, but… You know, I bet there’s a way I can get those back too. The Professor’s a reasonable guy, he… Oh god, I’ll let them go. I swear!”

He turned to run, but a fell flurry of feathers arose behind him, and seconds later he felt claws digging into his clothing, his skin, and he stumbled and fell, struggling. The weight of birds on him was too great for him to rise, but he managed to wriggle his head around so he could see… one bird glaring right into his face, and he knew, he _knew_ that this was the very first Pidgey, the one that had started it all, kept him distracted while the forces of Pidgeydom gathered, and he began to weep.

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed. “You’re totally worth a Great Ball! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m so—“

The Pidgey’s mouth suddenly stretched grotesquely huge, and he was free for the barest moment as the weight of bodies on him disappeared – but there was no escape from the fat little bird and its horrible beak. It swallowed him right down, just like the black hole in that movie _The Black Hole,_ except with more feathers and a lot fewer adorable robots.

As oblivion rolled in, he barely had time for one final thought.

_Being swallowed by a frickin’ Pidgey SUCKS._

*

For a closed attraction, the funhouse was remarkably well-lit, though there were things Buffy thought were probably supposed to move that weren’t. They passed through a hallway that looked like it was meant to tilt side to side, and through the non-rolling Barrel of Fun, catching occasional glimpses of the kitten’s tail as it ran on ahead of them.

Buffy knew they could probably catch up to the kitten if they put on a burst of speed, but she was very aware that they were the only people in this entire building, that they had the funhouse all to themselves, and she couldn’t resist milking the situation, squeezing Spike’s hand and running the occasional hand over his arm or his back or his ass – possibly putting a little more emphasis on the last of those three – and he was returning her caresses, little strokes that made her shiver, until finally he boxed her in against a wall and kissed her hard.

She smiled teasingly, holding up her snow cone. “Still eating here.”

Spike grinned ferally. “Could eat it _off_ something,” he suggested. “And by _something_ I mean _someone_.”

 _Ooh._ That was an excellent idea. But Buffy wasn’t done giving Spike a hard time; off to their left was a doorway with the words _HALL OF MIRRORS_ in glittery silver paint above it, and she pushed away, walking backwards towards it, pulling Spike along with her by the lapels of his duster.

When she was right in the doorway, she reached down and ran her hands across the bulge in his pants, drinking in his ecstatic gasp before giving him a hard shove in the center of his chest. He reeled back a few steps, looking confused.

“Come and get me, Spike!” Buffy laughed, and ran.

He was after her in an instant, growling; she dashed around one mirrored corner, and another, managing to stay a few yards ahead of him – yay slayer speed! – as she turned right, then left, then left again, then right, then right again, not even thinking about which way was best because all that mattered was the chase.

About fifty turns later, it suddenly occurred to her that this was an awful lot of turns. Shouldn’t she have come out of the Hall of Mirrors by now?

Another fifty turns on, she stopped in her tracks.

Spike nearly slammed into her back, but he pulled up at the last second, setting his hands on her shoulders. “Caught you, Slayer,” he purred. “You’re mine now.”

Buffy frowned up at him. “Spike, I think we’re lost.”

He grinned down at her. “But I found you.”

“No, _we’re_ lost. How long have we been in here?”

“Dunno,” he shrugged. “Not like I get out of breath.”

“We have to find the way out,” Buffy said firmly. “Come on.” She took Spike’s hand and handed him her snow cone, setting her free hand to the wall. She seemed to remember that being a way to find one’s path out of a maze. Though she seemed to recall it wasn’t foolproof. But really, how complicated could the Hall of Mirrors in a funhouse be?

She kicked herself the second she thought that, and kicked herself again some time later, when they were still walking around, her hand tracing the mirrors. She had taken to leaving obvious handprints on the mirrors as they passed them, but after ten minutes of walking, each and every mirror they came across was still pristine and unmarked. And she was starting to hear things – she could swear she sometimes heard Willow calling out her name, or Giles, and even Tara once, though she never caught a glimpse of any of them.

“God, I hope we’re not lost in here forever,” she muttered.

Spike scoffed at that. “Here, eat your bloody snow cone.”

So Buffy did, and she kissed Spike for a bit before resuming their trek through the Hall of Mirrors. They walked and walked and walked, leaving handprints behind them to mark their path, and still every mirror they passed was handprint-free, and each turn led to more mirrors, and the exit was nowhere to be found. Buffy tried smashing mirrors and the walls behind them – which just led to more halls with more mirrors, on and on and on…

They say they walk there still.

THE END

 

Would you like to try again? [Go to Chapter 1!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20978552)

[Read the Author’s Notes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20983016)


	99. Chapter 99

Spike followed Buffy behind the game, but as soon as they were out of sight – had there been anyone in the deserted corner of the arcade to see them – he dropped the basket and gave her hand a tug and a twist, and Buffy found herself pinned up against the back of the machine, Spike’s hands pressing her wrists into the wood by her hips.

“You trying to make me dust?” he demanded, eyes fixed on her mouth.

Buffy smiled up at him, wickedly. “Now, where would you get that idea? I was just eating some traditional carnival food and riding a traditional carnival ride. Like one does at a carnival.”

Spike groaned and set his lips to hers, and Buffy kissed him back, hungrily. In the dim, abandoned corner, it felt like they had all the time in the world, like they could go on kissing forever, and Buffy’s lips were totally on board with that.

Buffy’s lungs had other ideas, though, and when she finally reluctantly took an oxygen break, Spike caught her by the wrists again, searching her face. “This is real,” he said urgently, as if he was trying to convince himself. “This is… You want this.”

“Yes,” Buffy gasped, suddenly feeling shy.

Spike narrowed his eyes, pressing her back into the game again. Now that they were still, she could hear sound effects, little pings and chirps, and for a moment they blended together with the challenge in Spike’s eyes into something suggestive and naughty. He leaned in close, pressing his cheek against hers. “Here’s the thing, pet,” he whispered. “Way you ate that sodding cream-filled torture device earlier? Gives a bloke _ideas_.”

“Does it?” Buffy murmured back, twisting her wrists just enough so he knew she could break free but was choosing not to. “Imagine that.” She hooked one ankle around the back of his knee, tugging him closer.

He nipped at her jaw. “Makes a fellow hungry,” he continued.

Buffy shrugged. “This carnival is evil,” she said loftily. “I’m sure we can find you some deep-fried blood somewhere.” She arched up against him.

“Not hungry for blood,” Spike muttered darkly.

Buffy smiled slowly up at him. “Then what are you hungry for?” she whispered.

Spike grinned back just as slowly, tugging her arms up above her head until he had both wrists caught in one hand, his other gliding slowly down her arm and over to her face. He brushed her lower lip with his thumb. “You want to know?”

Buffy was shaking, all the way down to her toes. She nodded.

He cupped her face, brushing his thumb back and forth over her mouth. “That thing you did earlier. With the cream. Remember that?”

Buffy swirled her tongue around his thumb, sucking it into her mouth for a moment before releasing it. “You mean that?” she sighed, ducking to brush a kiss into his palm.

“God, yes, that,” Spike breathed, gliding his hand down her throat, then down along her body. “Now, love, I want you to imagine me doing that…” His hand slipped under the hem of her skirt, cupping her through her panties. “…Here.”

“Oh.” Her arms flexed involuntarily.

He started to stroke, firm strokes through the soft fabric. “What color today?” he said suddenly, eyes serious on hers.

“Polka-dot.”

His eyes flared. “Can I rip them off?”

Buffy quivered at the thought. “Of course not!” she managed.

Spike glanced down, smiling faintly. “Of course not,” he echoed meditatively, stroking harder through the fabric. “Pity, that. They’re rather in the way.”

“You could…” Buffy swallowed. “You could _take_ them off.”

“Could I?” Spike’s voice was faint and ragged, and he made a sound between a laugh and a whimper, then shook his head. “No.”

“No?” Buffy’s stomach twisted in disappointment.

He leaned in and brushed his lips against hers, like butterfly wings. “ _You_ take them off, pet.”

If they had been anywhere but in the darkest, loneliest corner of the arcade tent, behind the oldest, most neglected game, Buffy might have balked, but Spike’s voice was like a spell, and so she smiled and twisted her wrists free, giving him a little shove back and down. He fell willingly to his knees.

Buffy looked down her nose at him regally for a moment before catching the fabric of her skirt up in her fingers, furling the skirt up all the way to her waist. Spike was still as a statue, frozen except for his eyes, which were hot and wide. “Like them?” Buffy said casually, stepping out to the side a bit.

“Bloody hell,” Spike breathed, inching closer.

Buffy lifted one booted foot and planted it firmly on his shoulder. “Stay there.”

His eyes tracked all the way up from her boot to her exposed panties. “All right then.”

Buffy was panting as she hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her panties, then slowly peeled them down her thighs until she could drop them down to her ankles, where they caught on the tops of her boots. Spike’s eyes glazed over as he watched their progress down.

Buffy solemnly tugged her left foot out of the leg hole, then held her right out to Spike, the polka-dot panties dangling from her boot. “Help a girl out?”

Spike closed his eyes as if offering up a prayer, plucked the panties off her boot, and stuffed them in his pocket. _Gonna have to remember to get those back_ , Buffy thought absently, hooking her heel over Spike’s shoulder and giving a little tug. “Now, where were we?”

Spike looked up at her darkly. “Fair sure I was being driven around the bloody bend,” he muttered.

She batted her eyes innocently. “Oh. And here I thought you had plans for this…” She released her skirt from one hand, sliding her fingers down her smooth belly and between her legs.

“I did,” he breathed. “But I think I like your plans better.”

Buffy hooked her ankle behind his neck. “Get over here, Spike.”

Spike got over there, splaying his hands out along her thighs and urging them wider. “Bloody cream puffs,” he muttered desperately, and then his tongue was on her, right beside her fingers, and they all swirled together, his tongue and her fingers and her clit, all wet and jumbled and trembling until she had no idea what was going on down there except that it was incredible.

When she jolted with her orgasm, Spike caught her hand between his, sucked each finger into his mouth in turn, swirling his tongue around lavishly, then took her damp fingers and set them back on her. “Now you,” he purred, watching as she stroked herself, and she was already so sensitized and his gaze so compelling that she came fast and sharp against her own fingers, her legs trembling from the effort of holding her up.

Spike pressed tender kisses up her thigh before hiking her leg over his shoulder, glaring hotly up her body. “And now me,” he breathed against her, cool against her wetness, and gave her one long lick, back to front, slow and measured and devastating. She wove her hands into his hair while he curled his arm securely around her thigh, tormenting her with lazy strokes of his tongue, running his teeth along the tendon of her leg, murmuring nonsense and profanities into her until she thought she would scream from the slow pace, and when she finally came it had the inevitable force of a glacier, only the game at her back keeping her from falling over.

Spike set her foot back on the ground and rose nonchalantly to his feet, eyes cast down, fussily tugging her skirt back into place. “There you go, Slayer,” he said. “I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”

Buffy narrowed her eyes, fisting her hand in his shirt. “Oh, I’ve learned my lesson, all right.” she said sweetly, then tugged and twisted so he was up against the machine. “And you know what else?” She tugged him down so they were face to face. “Turnabout is fair play.”

She popped the button on his jeans.

Spike stretched like a cat in her grip, eyes glittering. “Got me there.”

“I really, really do,” she whispered, slowly tugging down his zipper and taking him in her hand.

He was panting now, little puffs of cool air, as she stroked him slowly and thoroughly. “And just what do you plan to do with me?” he managed.

“What I always do,” Buffy grinned. “Improvise.” And she fell to her knees.

*

“Hand ‘em over.” Buffy held out her hand imperiously.

Spike looked up from his lighter. “What, you taking up smoking now?”

“Not the cigarettes,” Buffy sighed in exasperation. “My underwear.”

Spike took a drag and shrugged.

“Spike. You don’t get to mount them and hang them on your wall. Gimme.”

“Wouldn’t do that,” Spike muttered, looking offended. “Gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”

Buffy raised her eyebrows.

“Well, suit yourself,” Spike huffed, pulling the panties out of his pocket. “Don’t see why you’d want them,” he grinned as she snagged them out of his hand. “They’re all _wet_ after all.”

“They’ll dry,” Buffy sniffed as she wriggled into them.

“Will they, now?” Spike leaned in close to her ear. “Then I’ll just have to get them wet again, won’t I?”

Buffy flushed, suddenly sure her panties were never going to be dry again, not with Spike saying _things_. With his _voice._ It was totally not fair. “I am not going to wear a skirt with no underwear at the carnival. What if we went on the Tilt-a-Whirl?

“Then I, for one, would enjoy the view,” Spike said smugly.

“Aren’t we supposed to be finding a kitten?”

“What, you mean that kitten?” Spike jerked his chin towards the basket. The Siamese kitten was curled up on the lid fast asleep. “Been there a good while. While you were otherwise… occupied. With more important things.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “God, ego much?”

He grinned back, unrepentant. “I think a man’s entitled to be chuffed when he’s made his lady scream.” He lifted a cheeky eyebrow. “Three times.”

“I didn’t scream,” Buffy muttered. Though she wasn’t exactly sure how to classify the sounds she had been making. They just… hadn’t been screams.

“No?” Spike affected a worried look. “Huh. I’ll have to remedy that.” He leaned over and scooped up the sleeping kitten, tucking her neatly inside the basket with her companion. “Best be on our merry way, then,” he said breezily. “Two down, one to go.”

 

[GO TO CHAPTER 66](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981075)


	100. Chapter 100

Spike followed Buffy behind the game, but as soon as they were out of sight of the few occupants of the arcade, he dropped the basket and gave her hand a tug and a twist, and Buffy found herself pinned up against the back of a machine, Spike’s hands on either side of her waist as he began to nibble on her ear.

“The kitten--” Buffy gasped

“Can wait,” Spike purred, pressing tender kisses down the line of her throat. “Tell me, pet. What was that all about back there?”

“What was what all about?”

 “Don’t play the dumb blonde now,” Spike muttered into her throat. “The way you ate that… god, are you trying to make me dust?”

Buffy bit her lip, sliding her hands cautiously up the planes of his chest. “If I were trying to make you dust, you’d know by the floating-on-the-wind thing.”

“So.” His eyes were on hers then, hard and wild. “This some game then?”

She grinned then, her breath coming hard and fast. “Well, we are in an arcade...”

“Bugger,” he muttered, then his lips were hard against hers, and she sucked his tongue deep because oh god how she had wanted this, his lips and his hands and his body cool against her, the game at her back quivering with electricity and the lights and sounds drowning out the noises she could feel coming from the back of her throat, hungry noises, little gasps and sighs and oh’s as his hands ran up and down her body.

When his lips finally left hers to nuzzle at her throat again, she bent down to kiss the crown of his head, because it was there, all crunchy with hair gel and begging to be kissed. He responded by hooking his hand under her knee and hiking her leg up to his waist. He pressed his forehead into her chest with a gusty sigh, and then his other hand was under her skirt tracing circles on her inner thigh.

“Watching you French-kiss that sodding cream-filled torture device shouldn’t make me hungry,” Spike growled into her chest. “Don’t rightly need to eat.”

“So I’ve been told,” Buffy murmured, clutching at his shoulders.

“But see, I’m not like other vampires,” Spike grinned, lifting his head to look at her again. “Don’t _need_ to eat, but that doesn’t mean I don’t _want_ to eat.” His fingers started drifting upwards, until they were right at the edge of her panties, painting mesmerizing trails on her sensitized skin.

“Should we get you your own Twinkie?” Buffy suggested breathlessly.

“Got a better idea,” Spike said darkly, and then instead of sliding his hand over to where she was dying to be stroked, like she’d anticipated, he fell to his knees, shoving her thigh up onto his shoulder, and ran his tongue hard over her panties and oh god she hadn’t known that was what she wanted but she wanted more and so did he because he licked and licked, pressing the fabric into her with his tongue, oh god that was his tongue and somehow her hands met his at the waistband of her panties and they were both shoving them down, down past her knees and then she didn’t care where they were anymore because his tongue was back, stroking and flicking, his palm flat against her thigh shoving it wide as he swore harshly into her, the vibrations of his lips sending her right over the edge. While she was quivering with aftershocks he stood up and watched her face, his hand in place of his tongue still tenderly stroking and stroking until she came again, nearly doubling over from the force of it, her head crashing into his chest.

“There,” he crooned, voice gravelly with satisfaction. “That was a nummy treat.” His lips lightly brushed the top of her head.

Buffy stared down at the ground, packed dirt and tangled electrical cords and her cute polka-dot panties dangling wantonly around one booted ankle – that being where they had apparently ended up – and wondered if she would ever be able to hear the _wocka-wocka-wocka_ sound of Pac-Man chomping on… whatever those things were supposed to be… without the memory of Spike’s mouth on her. God, maybe it would be like that dog with the bell, and she’d start drooling every time she heard it. Except, no, not _drooling_ per se…

Spike’s hand slipped out from under her skirt – which made her realize it had been cupped protectively over her crotch this whole time, because now she kind of missed it being there – and his other arm hooked around her back and pulled her in for a swift, hard hug, too fast for her to return it, and then he stepped back. It felt like a goodbye, and her hands automatically clutched at the hem of his shirt, before he could get away.

His eyes met hers, challenging and oddly vulnerable, and a dozen inane remarks tumbled through her head, ranging from _what the hell just happened?_ to _whenever I play Pac-Man I’ll remember this moment_ , but in the end she just smiled up at him and tilted her lips up to his, and that seemed to be the right thing to say, because he stayed.

*

Afterglow kisses against the back of an arcade game turned out to be so pleasantly surreal and dreamlike that Buffy might never have wanted to stop if a large group of loud teenagers hadn’t entered the tent, bringing her back to awareness of the semi-public location, and she reluctantly pushed Spike away.

“Spike, there’s people…”

“Don’t fancy an audience, do you?” He craned his neck to peer around the edge of the game. “Looks like they’re headed for that posh game at the other end. Doubt they’d notice.” He slid his hand under her skirt again. “Not if you keep mum.”

Buffy knew she should protest, but in all fairness she had abandoned “should” about a hundred kisses and a couple orgasms ago, so all she was able to manage was a vague groan as his fingers delved between her legs.

“God, you’re wet,” he muttered, nibbling tenderly at her collarbone. “I think having an audience makes you hotter.”

“Of… of course not!” Buffy gasped, trying very hard to sound shocked and disapproving.

“Doesn’t it?” Spike leaned in to her ear, curving his fingers in and up until they were pumping slowly inside her, his thumb pressing on her clit. He went on in a low, intense voice. “They’re right there, you know. They aren’t looking this way, but they could come over any second. All they’d have to do is step a little bit to the side, and they’ll see. They’ll know.” His free hand came up to tenderly cup her face. “God, you’re beautiful like this. So bloody gorgeous…”

Buffy watched his mouth like he was a hypnotist, biting her lip to stay quiet as she moved her hips along with his hand, harder and harder, and he was right, even as she was horrified at the thought of getting caught with her panties around her ankle, it was also blindingly erotic, his rich voice washing over her like molasses while she could hear people chattering just yards away.

“Oh, bugger!” Spike said suddenly, eyes jerking off to the side, and her orgasm hit her like a freight train.

When she could see again, he was grinning down at her. “Oh my god,” she spluttered. “Who saw us? Are they still there?”

“Knew that would do it for you,” Spike said smugly. “Near broke my fingers, though.”

Buffy narrowed her eyes. “You’re evil,” she growled.

“Evil is as evil does,” Spike agreed cheerfully.

Buffy couldn’t decide whether Spike needed to be punched in the nose for tricking her or given a medal for his service to Buffy’s Sex Life, but she was distracted from her internal debate by a tugging at her ankle. She glanced down and saw the calico kitten batting playfully at her dangling underpants. As she watched, its claws caught in the lace edging, trapping it.

Spike followed her gaze. “Nice work, Slayer! Never would’ve thought of using your lingerie as a cunning kitten trap.” He bent and scooped up the kitten, carefully disentangling it from the lace. As he tucked it into the basket with the black kitten, closing the lid tightly, Buffy ruefully considered the snagged panties before pulling them back on, for lack of anything better to do with them.

Spike patted the lid of the basket with satisfaction. “Two down, one to go.”

[GO TO CHAPTER 91](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981876)


	101. Chapter 101

Buffy was shaking as she led Spike into the arcade, the surface bit of her brain scanning the tent’s interior for any sign of the kitten while the rest of her brain was reviewing the whole thing on the log ride, because _damn_ that had been erotic. She was never going to look at a Klondike Bar the same way again, that was for sure. Or Lincoln Logs. Or water, for that matter.

What was also sure was that her body was still humming and feverish, and she was pretty certain the only prescription was _more Spike_. All she needed to do was get him alone. And conveniently, the arcade was basically empty. Lots of alone-time opportunities. They just needed to find… There! She caught a flash of the Siamese kitten’s brown-tipped tail as it vanished behind one of the machines.

She was still holding Spike’s hand, and when she turned to look at him he was watching her, his eyes full of hunger and trepidation, and she stepped in and grabbed the lapels of his duster, jerking him down for a hard, swift kiss, catching his lower lip gently between her teeth as she withdrew. He glared at her like he wanted to kill her, except Buffy was starting to think that that wasn’t his wanting-to-kill face, it was his wanting-to-kiss face, and he’d just been wanting to kiss her ever since he met her.

Which she was beginning to think might be mutual.

She grabbed his hand again and walked backwards towards the machine the kitten had escaped behind, and he followed stompily, fingers nearly crushing hers, and she smiled, because the kitten had made an excellent choice of hidey-holes.

It certainly looked private. Which was really all Buffy cared about right now.

 

Which machine did the kitten go behind?

Donkey Kong [GO TO CHAPTER 12](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20979026)

Pong [GO TO CHAPTER 99](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982068)


	102. Chapter 102

Buffy had been hoping the tent the kitten had chosen would be someplace private, but no such luck; there were a few dozen people wandering around the tent, which was ringed with small stages, each of which held a different performer. On one, a pair of flexible acrobats in spangled unitards were doing an intricate balancing act; on another, a juggler was gliding a glass ball around from hand to hand in a mesmerizing dance. The kitten was pawing at the base of a third, which held a woman in a glittery feathered outfit that could have come right out of a Vegas dance hall. She was holding a sword in her hand, showing it off to the crowd.

Buffy liked her on sight.

Spike came up beside her then, scowling around at the crowd. “Bloody hell. Can’t a fellow get a moment alone with his lady? Let’s nab the kitten and try the next tent over.”

Buffy snuck her hand into his, shushing him. “In a minute. There’s a sword.”

Spike eyed the girl in front of them, then grinned. “All right then.” He slipped behind Buffy, easing his arms around her waist, and she leaned back into him, because she’d missed this, this kind of casual cuddling and contact, almost as much as she’d missed kissing.

“What do you think she’s going to do?” she whispered, and Spike chuckled into her ear.

“She’s a sword-swallower, love. She’s building up the crowd now, see, with those flashy moves? In a minute she’s going to stick that sword right down her throat.” Spike’s arms tightened, and Buffy was suddenly very aware of the fact that he was hard against her, his cock snug up against her behind, and she couldn’t help but twitch against him, wishing yet again that this tent had been good and empty.

“So,” she murmured, low enough that only he could hear her. “She’s going to swallow that sword, is she?” She gave another little twitch of her hips, in case he missed that she was trying for a double entendre. He twitched right back in acknowledgment.

“That she will, love. She’ll open her pretty lips and suck it right down.” His voice was low now, deep and dark and suggestive.

“Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Indeed it is. But there’s an art to it. You have to use your lips and your mouth and your tongue just right.”

“Oh.” Buffy licked her lips.

“But I hear it’s very rewarding,” Spike purred, pulsing against her. “Especially for the sword.”

Buffy giggled at that, and he rumbled a laugh into her shoulder, and they watched together as the feathered lady tilted her head back and poked the sword down her throat, and then again from a couple different angles, before bowing and leaving her stage, ducking behind a curtain at the back.

As soon as she was gone, Spike stepped forward and snatched up the calico kitten, tucking it securely into the basket; Buffy waited patiently, but when the lid was secured, she tucked her hand into Spike’s and led him out of the tent.

“Come on, let’s blow this deep-fried popsicle stand.”

Spike followed after her, still grinning cheekily. “Can’t deep-fry a popsicle, love,” he said as she scanned the area until she saw what she wanted. She stomped over to the little maintenance shed tucked behind the sideshow tent and dragged Spike inside, slamming him up against the inside of the door.

“No,” she said sweetly. “But I can blow you.”

Spike’s mouth fell open. “Such language, Slayer!”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Well, I was going to say something about swallowing your sword, but I think we’ve belabored that metaphor enough for one night.” She folded her arms, taking a step back. “Belt.”

His eyes closed for the barest moment before he glared a challenge at her, unbuckling his belt. When she lifted an eyebrow, he went on to pop the button on his jeans, dragging the zipper down slowly, and then his cock was out and in his hand, the expression on his face somewhere between terror and eagerness.

She stepped forward again, nudging his hand aside so she could curl her own around him, stroking tenderly. She was going to say something else, something funny or sexy or maybe even mean – but sexy-mean, because she knew Spike liked it – but looking at his face brought something tender welling up inside her, so she just gave him a sweet, brief kiss on the lips before sinking to her knees.

He tasted of salt and copper, and she savored it, taking long licks along his length before she took him into her mouth, slowly, sucking him as deep as she could, and he groaned something that might have been words as she drew her lips back along his length, giving a last little suck at the head before swirling her tongue around and around, exploring every ridge and contour before taking him deep again, glacier-slow, and he rested one hand lightly on her head, like a benediction, as she teased and tormented and pleasured him, loving the feel of him beneath her tongue, silk and steel, the slide of his foreskin and the hardness beneath.

God, he was responsive, his gentle hand and his taut body and his voice urging her on, and she could feel her own arousal building, little darts of need spiking through her as she escalated, pumping him in and out of her mouth, slippery and hard and god how would it feel to have him inside her, looking at her with those eyes, his hands in her hair and his lips and his teeth and she groaned around him, scraping her teeth along his length as she sucked him harder without thinking and he bit out a surprised oath and came in her mouth.

“Bloody hell, Slayer,” he gasped brokenly.

Buffy wiped off her mouth, feeling satisfied, if not sated. “Liked that, huh?”

“Bloody genius,” he averred, hauling her up for a hard kiss.

She gave his softening cock a final stroke. “Better get tidied up. We have one more kitten to catch.” Buffy prided herself on her sense of responsibility. They had a mission, and she was going to ensure they completed it, no matter how much she wanted to stay right here and explore. They were by god going to catch that third kitten.

After that, though, all bets were off.

 

[GO TO CHAPTER 66](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981075)


	103. Chapter 103

Buffy stared at the _thing_ in her hand.  _Oh god, what the hell was I thinking?_ It looked almost like a corn dog, the fried batter drizzled with a layer of sugary glaze, but… well, either the thing involved a whole lot of batter, or they had literally just inserted a handle into an entire stick of butter and fried it up. She was almost afraid to find out which.

“Buffy!”

She turned to see the last person she had expected to ever see again in Sunnydale – Riley Finn, larger than life, striding across the midway as if the butter had summoned him.

Now, with Spike’s kisses still fresh on her lips, he was the last person she _wanted_ to see.

But he was smiling at her easily, that affable grin she had found so soothingly normal, and she couldn’t help but smile back, even as Spike growled beside her.

“Riley! What are you doing back here?”

He shrugged. “Heard through channels that there was something going down, thought maybe you might need me.”

Buffy looked at Riley for a long moment, not really sure what to say. She couldn’t look at him without remembering how she’d felt, how she’d cried, how she’d run after him to beg him to stay when she’d _needed him_ , back when everything was falling apart, and yeah, she remembered the love, but she also remembered emptiness, and tears, and most of all how when she’d _needed him_ he’d been running around getting his bite on, and then gone, because no matter how much she’d _needed him_ it hadn’t been enough.

“My mom died,” was what she finally said.

He blinked. “Oh, Buffy, I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah,” Buffy said shortly. “Me too.”

She could feel Spike quivering behind her, and what the hell, she was feeling a little pissy; she tucked her arm into Spike’s and tugged him forward.

“Spike and I are on a _date_ ,” she said firmly.

Riley’s eyes narrowed. “Are you?”

“That we are,” Spike chimed in smugly; Buffy elbowed him before he got too deep into the gloating.

There was so much Buffy could say, but as she looked at Riley, she just felt tired, like she’d walked a thousand miles since that day she’d run after him, and… she didn’t want to go back. Not to who she’d been back then, when she’d been desperate to prove that her love was enough. When she’d _needed him_ so much, and he hadn’t been there, even when he’d been right by her side.

She didn’t know where she was going from here, what she wanted or what she needed, but she knew… she knew she didn’t need Riley. Not anymore.

Riley was still looking at her with that cheerful, puppy-dog smile that she had once thought meant he was actually a pretty nice guy, but she was now starting to suspect was a mask. “Just don’t worry about it, Riley. We’ve got everything under control.” She smiled sweetly. “I don’t need you.”

His face shifted ominously for just a moment before sliding back into a smile. “All right, Buffy. I can see this isn’t a good time. I can come by the house later on and we can catch up on things. Sound good?”

It really didn’t, but if Riley couldn’t make the connection between _being on a date_ and _not wanting to talk to your ex_ , then that was his problem. “Whatever.” She glared at the deep-fried butter in her hand, winding up to toss it into the garbage.

Riley caught her arm. “Aren’t you going to eat that?”

Buffy looked at it again, just to make sure. “Nope. Definitely not.” She shook his hand off pointedly.

“Well don’t waste it. Here, give it to me, I’ll eat it. They use real Iowa butter in these, you know. All the best foods come from Iowa.”

“Knock yourself out,” Buffy sighed drily, handing over the heart-attack-on-a-stick. “Look, it’s sweet and all that you came back, but I have this whole carnival thing under control. Enjoy your trip back to the jungle.” She grabbed Spike by the elbow and dragged him back towards the concession stands.

***

Riley watched her go, frowning. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Buffy hadn’t been all that happy to see him. But he supposed he’d been right about her all along; she had some sick obsession with vampires, or she wouldn’t have sunk to dating Spike. It was a shame he was only here for the night, or he’d take her out for dinner, remind her what a man could be like before it was too late.

Ah, well. Her loss. He’d sure dodged a bullet, getting away from her. He started walking back to the carnival helipad. There was always that girl he’d rescued in the jungle; she seemed to appreciate him well enough.

He took a bite of the deep-fried butter, enjoying the crispy exterior and the soft, rich interior, and in his absorption in the nostalgic Iowa flavor, he missed his step and tripped, tumbling over a low fence and into a weird sunken moat. _Great._

He had just heaved himself up on the shore of the ridiculous waterway when he realized he was surrounded.

By lions.

He reached for the taser on his hip, aiming it at the lioness leading the pride, but it fizzled in his hand, fritzed out by the water.

“Buffy?” he whispered frantically, then risked a shout. “Buffy!”

*

The lions closed in, licking their chops. They had been fed plentifully, of course, but here was something fresh and buttery, with plenty of meat for the whole pride to share. And it looked to be a delicious feast indeed.

After all, all the best foods came from Iowa.

***

Buffy was still hungry, but it was really hard to make up her mind what she wanted to eat when there was so much noise behind her.

“God, what is up with the lions?” she groused, glaring back over her shoulder.

Spike shrugged. “Must be feeding time,” he muttered offhandedly. “Now, am I buying you a sweet, or not?”

“Oh, you’re buying, all right,” Buffy retorted. “For some reason I have a really bad taste in my mouth…”

 

What treat does Buffy want?

Deep-Fried Twinkie: [GO TO CHAPTER 58](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20980886)

Ice Cream: [GO TO CHAPTER 86](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981753)

Cream Puff: [GO TO CHAPTER 47](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20980679)


	104. Chapter 104

Spike peeled off a tenner to pay for the hideously-overpriced vanilla ice cream, making sure Buffy was watching when he stuffed the change in the tip jar, because while he didn’t give a good goddamn about the teen cashier’s well-being, he had learned some time ago that Buffy had Strong Opinions regarding tipping, and Buffy’s good opinion was something he did give a damn about.

And if he were totally honest, ten measly dollars was a small price to pay for the blissful look on Buffy’s face when she took her first taste of the soft-serve, her sweet pink tongue licking at the melting surface. But then he caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye, and sighed, nudging Buffy’s arm.

“There it goes,” he said, pointing towards the carousel.

The calico kitten had leapt onto the slowly turning platform and was seated on one of the bench seats, placidly licking its paw. Spike could see her calculating how to get over the fence when a grating voice froze her in place.

“There will be no line-cutting at my carousel, missy!”

Buffy turned, jaw hanging open in disbelief. “Principal Snyder?” And it _was_ the sodding Principal, looking just as sullen and ratlike as he had been at the Ferris wheel, tugging officiously at his striped carny jacket. Spike vaguely remembered him from that time he’d crashed Buffy’s party at the school, though he’d been less dead then, and of course Spike’d had other priorities.

The little man glared at them, adjusting the trim of his straw boater. “You juvenile delinquents get in line and wait your turn.”

Buffy looked over at the empty line corral. “There is no line.”

“Of course there’s a line. Just because there’s no people waiting doesn’t mean you can just jump over the fence like hippies. You have to follow the proper procedures for getting on the ride…”

Buffy rolled her eyes and dragged Spike to the line opening, where a creepy-looking clown on a sign declared they needed to be THIS TALL to ride the carousel, and back and forth along the path of the line, until finally they were standing in front of Principal Snyder. Up close, he smelled of mothballs and decay.

“Tickets, please,” he said in a viciously bored voice.

Spike peeled two tickets off the roll they had acquired earlier and set them in Snyder’s outstretched hand, which seemed solid enough. He took the tickets and inspected each one suspiciously before unhooking the chain and allowing them in.

Buffy jumped onto the carousel and started winding through the horses towards the kitten’s bench as the ride started moving, calliope music blaring from the speakers. Spike bounded after her, but after they had taken just a few steps, the music cut out and was replaced by Snyder’s sneering voice.

“ _No walking on the carousel platform while the ride is in motion._ ” The aggressively-cheerful music resumed.

Spike took a few more steps to catch up to Buffy. “What’s he going to do, make us write lines?”

Buffy frowned in confusion for a moment, before comprehension clicked. “Oh, like Bart Simpson?” She looked over at Principal Snyder, chewing on her lower lip. “I don’t know,” she said at last. “But I’m not sure I want to find out. There’s obviously something not right here, and until we know what it is…”

Spike rolled his eyes, but he stopped walking, keeping a sharp eye on the kitten – or he tried to, but Buffy chose that moment to take another lick of her melting ice cream, and bugger if Spike was going to miss _that_ show. After she’d taken a few entrancing licks, the music cut out again.

“ _All riders on the carousel must be seated on an animal while the ride is in motion_.”

“Bugger that,” Spike muttered. Dru had loved carousels, and of course he’d indulged her, but generally in the sinister-standing-about way, not astride a sodding wooden animal.

But then Buffy gave him a look, amused and sly. “I dunno. I kind of like the idea of you sitting on a pink pony.” She looked at the Principal as they passed by. “And I really don’t like that smile of his.”

 _Love’s Bitch rides again_ , Spike thought sourly, and set his basket on the wooden platform. Naturally, the animal beside him was a bubble-gum pink unicorn, but… the lady wanted a pink pony; a pink pony she would bloody well get. He stuck his combat-booted foot in the shiny stirrup and mounted, resting his hands on his thighs once he’d settled into the carved wooden saddle. His fingers twitched with annoyance as the sparkly pink beast moved up and down. “Saddle up, Slayer,” he muttered, because bugger if he was doing this alone.

Buffy favored him with a brilliant smile – god, just that made riding the bloody pony worthwhile – and slipped astride her own horse, glittering lavender with blue roses in its carved curls of mane. Spike was suddenly reminded of his human days, ladies riding sidesaddle to protect their decency, because Buffy’s skirt was draped so high on her thighs he could almost see her panties, and that made him think about how the only thing separating her and the saddle was said panties, and as the horse moved jerkily up and down he nearly groaned at the images it was all putting his head, not one of which could remotely be called decent.

And then Buffy cast him another sidelong glance and resumed eating her ice cream.

Spike couldn’t look away.

After a few more licks, Buffy cast him a shrewd glance. “Shouldn’t you be keeping an eye on our fugitive?”

“Kitten’s not going anywhere,” Spike shrugged, twisting so he could rest his elbow on his pink unicorn’s head. “Rather watch you eat.”

“Really?” Buffy gave another long lick of her ice cream cone. “Is that what you’d rather be doing?”

“It’s not _all_ I’d rather be doing,” Spike said truthfully.

Buffy looked at him directly then, and god, she was smiling like she knew exactly what he was thinking, all his lewd fantasies of her riding him, and she wanted them as much as he did. But she just fixed him with her gorgeous green eyes and kept eating her ice cream, rising and falling slowly beside him, until the ride slowed and came to a stop.

Spike loved every moment.

“ _All riders must now exit the ride promptly. If you wish to ride again, you must first wait in line._ ” There was a pause, then a grudging. “ _Have a nice day._ ”

Buffy slid off her horse in Spike’s direction and he lunged in hers, and her lips were bare inches away when he caught a flicker of motion out of the corner of his eye. The kitten! It had leaped off the carousel platform and was frolicking after a butterfly.

Buffy grabbed Spike by the lapel of his duster and gave a yank. “It’s getting away!” And she wended her way through the forest of wooden animals, leaving Spike behind.

He growled at her. “Bloody hell, Slayer…” He snatched up his basket.

She sent him a teasing glance over her shoulder as she leaped off the platform. “You coming, Spike?” And oh, her voice was like a siren’s song, and Spike could do nothing but follow her.

Fortunately, instead of luring him to his death on rocky shoals, she chased the kitten into a nearby wooden shed with an “Employees Only” sign on the door. Spike raced after her, barely having a moment to take in the interior before the door slammed behind him, Buffy standing there with her hand on the door, a triumphant smile on her face.

“There,” she said briskly. “Now we have the kitten trapped.”

Spike glared around the shed interior, which was stuffed with push brooms and cleaning supplies. “Do you see it?”

Buffy shrugged, leaning casually against the door. “It’s somewhere in here,” she said negligently. “We have it trapped, so we can catch it at our leisure.” She took another casual lick of her half-gone ice cream cone. “Just let me finish this up, okay?”

Spike folded his arms. “All right then.” He rolled his shoulders, bracing himself for another ten minutes of bloody Ice Cream Torture.

And then she smiled like sin, and held out the cone to him. “Want a taste?”

 

Does Spike want a taste?

Yes: [GO TO CHAPTER 61](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20980964)

No thanks: [GO TO CHAPTER 112](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982362)


	105. Chapter 105

Unfortunately, the calico kitten seemed to have abandoned the Cliffhanger, and after several minutes of fruitless searching, Buffy and Spike found themselves standing in the middle of the games concourse.

Spike looked around, stuffing his hands in his duster pockets. “Could win you a thingamabob. Traditional, isn’t it?”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “I thought you were trying to impress me. I’m not exactly the type to ooh and aah over knocking down bottles or throwing ping-ping balls into goldfish bowls.”

Spike lifted his eyebrows. “And just what _do_ you ooh and aah over, pet?”

She immediately thought of a whole bunch of things Spike could do to make her ooh and aah, and her face turned a little red. “All I’m saying is, if I want a cheap purple teddy bear, I can win my own.”

“That you could,” Spike agreed, then grinned wickedly. “Hell, if you’re feeling all girl-power, _you_ could win _me_ a thingamabob.”

Buffy laughed. “Maybe I will.”

“ _You!_ ”

Buffy spun around at the shout, which had come from a wiry little man in a striped jacket – apparently the uniform for evil carnival barkers. He was glaring at her poisonously, like she’d kicked his puppy or something.

Spike squinted past her. “Doc?”

The little man ignored Spike. “You’re the Slayer. It’s your fault…” Suddenly his face crumpled into tears. He looked so sad and pathetic and old that Buffy felt an instinctive need to comfort him, until he glared up at her through his tears again, and his eyes were gleaming black. “You’re responsible for the ending of the Great Glorificus.”

“Oh, um, Glory?” Buffy glanced at Spike briefly. “Yeah. Sorry about that.” She tried very hard to make her voice sound actually sorry, but she was pretty sure she didn’t succeed. Kinda hard to regret the death of an evil bitch hellgod who’d been brain-sucking people left and right and specifically targeting her sister.

But Doc was back to mournful tears. “I was all set up with a job in her infernal court,” he said. “But now business is so bad I had to get a part-time job just to afford rent. It was this or being a greeter at Walmart.” He shuddered.

“Yeah.” Buffy looked at Spike, who was engrossed in something just past Doc’s shoulder; Buffy craned her neck and saw a display of small plushies on carabiner clips, weird little monsters or creatures, dozens of different ones just hanging from a display.

He caught her glance and jerked his chin at the display. “Win me one o’ those, love?” His voice was both cajoling and teasing.

Buffy looked up at the sign over the tearful old man’s head. TEST YOUR STRENGTH! was written in huge red letters, as if exploding. Next to it, a thermometer-like pole rose ten feet in the air, marked along its length with judgments ranging from BABY to SUPERMAN.

“Excuse me,” the old man sniffled. “Didn’t mean to neglect my job.” His voice changed, becoming bright and enthusiastic. “Step right up! Test your strength! Find out if you’re a man or a boy!” He swished his striped cane around dramatically, as if he were the Master of Ceremonies at the creepiest cabaret ever.

Spike waggled his eyebrows at Buffy. “Oh yes, do let’s find out if you’re a man!”

She flexed her hands dramatically. “Man enough to kick _your_ behind,” she grinned, holding out her hand to the creepy barker for the mallet. Spike peeled off a number of tickets from his roll, stepping to one side to watch, eyes glittering avidly.

“Oh,” Doc said in a regretful voice. “You’re the Slayer, so… I’m afraid you need to have a bit of a handicap.” He reached behind the prize display and fiddled with something. Immediately the thermometer shot up, growing and growing until the bell at the top was a good twenty-five feet in the air. “In the interest of fairness, you understand.”

Buffy glared at the little creep, noticing suddenly the rat-like tail coming from beneath his jacket. “Oh yes. Totally fair.” She quickly assessed the game. “How high do I have to get the thingie to win a prize?”

“It’s a puck,” Doc said solicitously. “And it’s not easy. You have to ring the bell. Although if you make it halfway, I am prepared to offer you this very stylish eraser as a consolation prize…”

“Gosh,” Buffy said, batting her eyes. “That does seem hard.” And she swung the mallet over her head and smashed it down with all her strength.

The puck flew upwards like a cannonball, crashing right into the bell; with a resounding peal, the top of the game exploded, splinters of wood falling down like rain while the bell itself, dented and misshapen, landed on the ground at Buffy’s feet, still vibrating.

“Pick out your prize, Spike,” she said loftily.

Doc barely even seemed fazed, reaching behind him and taking one of the little plushies off the rack. “This must be the one you want.” He held out a little yellow mouse thing that looked kind of familiar to Buffy. His grin managed to be both charming and vaguely disturbing at the same time.

Spike ignored the offer, decisively pointing at a lumpy oyster-looking thing with a silly cartoon glare stitched onto the black pearl inside. “That one.”

Doc blinked. “Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer this one? It’s our most popular.”

Spike glared at him. “Yeah. I bet it is. Also most likely to be cursed.” He reached out and took the one he’d requested. “This little bugger’ll do me fine.”

Doc’s eyes narrowed dangerously for a moment before he gave a determinedly affable grin. “Well, perhaps your girlfriend would like to play again? Win you the whole set?” He gestured at the game, which was suddenly pristine and whole again.

“I’m thinking not,” Buffy grinned, taking Spike by the elbow. “My date and I have a prior engagement with something fattening and bad for me. In a non-cursey kind of way.”

Spike gave the little old man a jaunty salute as they left.

“So,” Buffy said as they walked away, Spike clipping the little stuffie onto his basket. “A clam.”

“Cloyster,” Spike corrected automatically, then rolled his eyes. “Little fellow’s a badass. Shoots spikes and all.” He gave the little toy a spin. “Got a Spike Cannon even.”

Buffy nodded as if she had a clue what he was talking about, but then Spike took her by the hand and pulled her into an alcove behind the goldfish-bowl game, setting her up against the wooden wall.

“Thank you for winning me a prezzie,” he purred, eyes heavy-lidded. He was quivering with energy.

Buffy grinned up at him. “Well, I hear it’s the traditional thing to do on a carnival date.”

He set his hands flat against the wall on either side of her waist. “Love watching you break things,” he muttered. “It’s bloody hot.”

She looked at him askance. “Breaking things is sexy?”

“Damn sexy,” he confirmed. “All that danger… power…” He groaned and kissed her, hard, and she snaked her arms up around his neck and met his passion with her own. How many times had they kissed so far tonight? She vaguely tried to count in her head, but then gave it up, because in the end there was only one possible answer: not enough.

It wasn’t enough.

*

Anya cuddled into Xander as they strolled through the romantic lights of the carnival.

“How are you feeling, sweetie?” she asked solicitously.

He grunted vaguely in response, but Anya was fluent in all the Xander sounds, and easily interpreted it as meaning _“Quite well, my beloved darling, as long as you are by my side.”_  

“That’s nice,” she said happily. “You know, I thought Buffy was just going to get us in unnecessary danger, bringing us with to this place, but I’m having a wonderful time. Aren’t you?”

Another grunt _. “Blissful indeed, my adorable sex kitten.”_

Anya hugged him tighter. “Are you well enough to go on another ride? Because the carnival isn’t staying forever, Buffy’s going to slay it.”

Grunt. _“Whatever you wish, my precious love.”_

Not-talking Xander was such a sweet-talker. “Okay, let’s do that one next!” Anya bubbled.

Xander whimpered joyfully as Anya tugged him towards the Tilt-a-Whirl.

*

Andrew ducked behind the Tilt-a-Whirl ticket booth, watching through narrowed eyes as Warren and Jonathan walked past. Normally, he would be keen to share his exciting new adventure with the only friends he had managed to find since Sunnydale High, but Future Andrew had been very clear.

Warren and Jonathan were lame.

But he didn’t need them anyhow. He already had managed to capture dozens of Pokémon – even a couple that’d had red circles – and he was well on his way to Pokémon Mastery.

He didn’t need Warren or Jonathan.

He didn’t need them at all.

He looked at his screen, at the lone Andrew mirrored there.

Well, maybe he’d show them later, if he got tired of being alone.

*

Giles glared impotently at his little notebook. He had intended to take down his observations about the evil pub and its evil deep-fryer, but the oil on his glasses was making it difficult for him to focus and… well, there was no getting around it, he had to deal with the bitter truth that he, Ripper, now wore bifocals, and thus could not write in his own notebook without his glasses, unless he placed the page three inches from his nose, at which point the fountain pens he preferred would not write properly. Pencil would do in a pinch, but smudged far too easily for permanent records.

Was it too much to ask to be allowed to be mature and yet to possess a young body?

Grumbling, he tucked his book away again. He might as well investigate the surroundings further. He had a mind like a steel trap; surely he could remember his observations until he was able to record them.

And perhaps he would be able to find a booth with napkins.

Three booths later, he had given up hope of finding anything with which he could clean his glasses. The funnel cake had proven innocent. The ice cream was innocuous. And the deep-fried Twinkies were… Well. They were deep-fried Twinkies, which was appalling in the extreme, but they seemed to be free of demonic influence, other than the usual Hostess aura.

He had grave doubts about the candy floss, however.

He leaned in close, peering at the machine as it spun at high speed. “And you’re quite certain the ingredients used in this dessert are merely sugar, food coloring, and natural flavorings?” he inquired in a businesslike fashion.

The teen girl operating the machine shrugged. “Basically. Though I think we might use FD&C Red Number Forty. I think that might be evil?”

Giles leaned in a little closer, and at that very moment the machine gave a little extra spurt of energy, spraying filaments of candy floss across his glasses.

“Ah, yes,” he said wryly. “Evil indeed.”

*

Willow laced her fingers into Tara’s as they walked along the games concourse. They had dutifully checked out the area of the Tunnel of Love for the Siamese kitten, but there had been no sign of it, and it seemed silly to spend the whole half hour searching the same tent flaps over and over, when there was a whole carnival to explore. So here she was with her sweetie taking in all the sights, the flashing lights and the cheery music and all the people having fun…

 _Holy Toledo!_ Willow quickly averted her eyes from the couple making out behind the goldfish-bowl game.

Tara glanced behind them, curious. “Wow. Was that Spike?”

Willow shrugged casually. “Sure looked like it. He’s got the hair, and the coat…”

“Kissing Buffy.” Tara’s eyes were gleaming.

Willow waved a hand dismissively. “Nah, I’m sure it was just some punk girl he picked up…” She sighed in resignation. “Yeah, that was Buffy. I recognized the boots.” It had been hard to miss the boots, with her leg all hiked up like that.

Tara squeezed her hand. “You know what this means, right?”

Willow turned a mock-scowl on her girlfriend. “Fine! You have officially won the bet. I owe you a Coke, or a similar prize of equivalent value of your choice.”

Tara beamed brilliantly, swinging their joined hands, and Willow couldn’t help but laugh.

It had been a good month before tonight that Tara had casually mentioned to Willow that she thought there might be something going on between Buffy and Spike – something about how their auras were changing color, or a red thread joining them, or something else that Tara could see and Willow couldn’t – and of course Willow had scoffed at the very idea, because anyone could see that Buffy and Spike were just hanging around together because the rest of the Scoobies were all couple-y and so the two lone wolves were just lone-wolfing together by default. But Tara had insisted, and Willow thought Tara was even more beautiful when she was confident, and so they’d shaken on the bet, Willow sure that she was going to win, because even though everyone knew Spike was infatuated with Buffy, there was no way _Buffy_ would ever go for _Spike_ , not in a million years.

But then… she’d started noticing, too.

Nothing big, of course – Buffy certainly hadn’t been gushing to Willow about Spike the way she had about all her previous boyfriends – but little tiny things. The way Buffy watched Spike when he wasn’t looking, little bemused glances, all the stranger because they were so brief. How Buffy danced a little sexier when Spike was around. The growing preponderance of red in Buffy’s wardrobe. The sentence-finishing when they were discussing patrol – and the fact that they were patrolling together in the first place. Touches – nothing that would qualify as a caress, of course, but little casual contacts that were made non-casual by the way Buffy and Spike studiously tried too hard to be casual, _not looking_ at each other with such determination that it was more telling than if they’d been making moon-eyes.

And once Willow started noticing, she couldn’t very well stop, especially with Tara _also_ noticing, and occasionally giving her a significant look or hand squeeze. One memorable Scooby meeting, Willow had started a couple of sets of tally-marks in her notebook, one for Buffy and one for Spike, making a mark every time there was a touch or a look or a shared joke, and at the end of the night, looking at her tally, she had known for sure.

Eventually, she was going to owe Tara a Coke.

And given what she’d seen just now, the hiked-up leg and the wandering hands and the way Buffy and Spike had been kissing, like they were literally incapable of stopping… _eventually_ had definitely come to call.

But all of this was, if she were perfectly honest, less important than Tara’s warm hand in hers, and the way Tara was looking around at the midway games, as if she’d never seen them before.

Wait.

“Tara, is this your first time at a carnival?”

She flushed in response. “Well, no, not really, but… my father didn’t really approve of the games. He thought they were run by swindlers.”

Willow grinned. “Oh, they _are_ run by swindlers. But you can still have fun.” She gestured at the goldfish bowl game. “For example, did you know I spent hours of my youth perfecting my ping-pong ball throwing technique? I won a goldfish at the county fair every year for five years in a row.”

“So you had five goldfish?”

“Well, no,” Willow said sheepishly. “Just one at a time. They, um, usually didn’t live very long after. That’s where the swindle came in.”

Tara looked up at the prizes. “They have stuffed goldfish here. Those won’t die.”

Willow nodded sagely. “This is true. But those big prizes up there? You only win them if you play the game, like, a hundred times. The actual prize you win for one go through is a lot smaller. That’s the other part of the swindle.”

“Oh.”

Willow took both of Tara’s hands in hers. “But I bet I can still do it.” She smiled, feeling her joy bubble out. “Whaddya say? Want me to win you a crappy little prize?”

Tara grinned slyly. “Do I get to kiss you behind the booth after?”

“Only if you want to,” Willow reassured her, then frowned. “And if Spike and Buffy are gone, because otherwise that would be kinda awkward.”

Willow handed the teen working the game some tickets – she thought she remembered him from English class, but she had to be mistaken, because she was sure Jared had been killed at Graduation – and accepted her five ping-pong balls.

“Now, watch the master.”

The first two balls lobbed easily into bowls. The third she put a little too much power into and it ricocheted off the rim. The fourth she overcompensated; it fell just barely short of the table of bowls.

“Three in to win,” not-Jared said in a bored tone of voice.

Willow narrowed her eyes, aiming. She knew she could call on the magicks, a little hint of breeze to get the ball just where she wanted, but… she and Tara had been working on this. Not just how to use the magic, but when to use the magic, and while Willow sometimes disagreed with Tara, this she knew for certain: Tara wouldn’t be happy with magical cheating.

And Willow liked Tara happy.

She aimed and tossed the last ball, and it plopped right into the center bowl, and probably-not-Jared pulled out the inevitable tray of first-round prizes from its hiding place under the counter, absently suggesting that they use more tickets and try for a bigger prize.

Tara pondered the selection carefully before choosing a little gummy-plastic goldfish keychain, but the way she looked up at Willow after made her feel like the Queen of the Midway, and even though Buffy and Spike were still at it when they went past their alcove – Willow murmured a little “you go, girl!” as they passed – they were able to find another private little corner for a smidgen of smoocharama.

It was magic.

*

“Was that Willow I just heard?” Buffy said into Spike’s lips, looking around. They were still all alone, though, and Spike just hiked her leg a little higher, his hand nestling comfortably into the little dent where her thigh met her butt, fingers just shy of the edge of her panties, while he planted sweet little kisses down her throat.

“Must be your imagination,” Spike murmured absently, bringing a hint of teeth into play.

But the moment was broken for Buffy, and she extricated herself from Spike’s grip, tugging her clothing back into place. “I thought we were going to start this date with a snack,” she muttered, a little petulant because… well, it wasn’t really any of Willow’s business, but that didn’t mean she wanted her _watching_ them.

Spike sighed, but stood up straight, tugging his duster back into place. “All right then.”

He seemed a little pouty, and, well, Buffy felt a little pouty, so she tucked her hand into his as they strolled towards the various food carts, winding her fingers and her arm with his and rubbing her cheek against his shoulder.

It was nice.

“So, what’s your pleasure?” Spike said, just a hint of innuendo in his voice.

Buffy took a deep breath, resisting the suggestion for the moment, and chose…

 

What treat does Buffy want?

Deep-Fried Twinkie: [GO TO CHAPTER 48](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20980694)

Cream Puff: [GO TO CHAPTER 57](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20980865)

Ice Cream: [GO TO CHAPTER 80](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981564)

Deep-Fried Butter: [GO TO CHAPTER 29](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20979785)


	106. Chapter 106

The fence surrounding the lion enclosure wasn’t all that high, but the area of the paddock that butted up to the fence was deeper than the main thoroughfare, with a moat surrounding it. Buffy didn’t even pause before vaulting over, landing lightly on the packed dirt. Spike leapt after her, leaving his basket behind. Oddly, he didn’t see a single lion.

“Remind me why we’re entering the lion’s den?” he muttered as they approached the tent.

“So you don’t get your head bitten off,” she whispered back.

“Beginning to suspect this might be a bit counterproductive.” Kittens were easy to acquire; heads, not so much.

The tent was small; now that they were right up on it, it didn’t seem big enough to hold more than two lions, and then only if they were very, very friendly. Spike frowned, scanning the enclosure again: dirt and moat and a few rocks for basking, but he didn’t see a single animal.

“Slayer, I am a mite concerned over the lack of animals in this animal habitat.”

Buffy frowned. “Yeah. It does seem a bit deserted.”

“Maybe they’re asleep,” he said doubtfully.

“Maybe.” She set her pretty jaw and gave him that look of hers, the one that said she meant business. “All right. You open the flap, and I’ll grab the kitten.”

 “Or, if it’s awake, kick the lion in the face,” Spike suggested. “Before any heads – or, for that matter, limbs – get bitten off.”

“Or kick the lion in the face,” Buffy agreed. “On the count of three. One… Two…”

Spike pulled open the flap of the tent and saw…

Stars.

Instead of the heap of sleeping lions he had hoped for – or the snarling, grouchy lions he had feared – the tent flap opened on a cool night scene, tall grasses and scrubby trees and mounded rocks shading a smooth pond that reflected the moon and stars. A breeze redolent of musky animals and green growing things teased at the canvas flap, sending ripples along the surface of the water, and he felt his jaw drop open.

“Bloody hell,” he whispered.

“Oh.” Buffy’s voice was soft and awed, and she started to step forward onto the grassy savanna.

“Wait,” Spike said, but it was too late, she was already out knee-deep in grass, turning in a slow circle.

“Look at all the stars,” she said, eyes shining in the moonlight, and Spike threw caution to the wind and stepped out with her. He glanced behind him and saw the outside of a tent just like the one they had just entered, staked out in a little clearing.

“I’m looking,” he agreed, but he was only looking at her – he’d seen skies like this in his travels, unmuted by the lights of industrial cities, but he’d never seen anything like Buffy looking at a sky like this.

Now that he was out in the silent wilderness, he realized he could hear… heartbeats. Dozens of heartbeats, slower and deeper than humans, and he looked around and realized a number of the mounded rocks surrounding the pool… weren’t rocks.

“Slayer,” he said in a low, even voice. “I found the lions.”

Buffy looked around slowly; he could tell the moment she realized they were surrounded because her heartrate shot up. God, he could hear everything out here.

“Crap,” Buffy whispered. “We need to find that kitten and split.”

Spike was about to roll his eyes and ask how they were supposed to find a kitten wandering around in a knee-high field of grass, but then he saw it, batting playfully at a grass stem near the pool. “Keep watch, I’ll nab it.”

He crept up on the kitten as silently as he could manage, well aware that he risked not only spooking his prey but also wakening the deadly predators surrounding him. Another situation in which not needing to breathe was a distinct advantage. Closer and closer he stalked, laser-focused on his goal, and finally…. Ah. He was within reach. He gauged the distance, waited for his moment, and…

“Gotcha, y’ little bugger,” he muttered as he caught the black kitten by the scruff of the neck. It let out a surprised _meow!_ but he curled it right into his chest, muffling its distress under his duster, and turned to leave.

And then Buffy gasped.

He leapt back just in time to avoid having his head ripped off his shoulders by the massive paw that came out of the darkness, but it still struck him a glancing blow, sending him tumbling back towards the little tent, his head ringing. He had just enough presence of mind to curl protectively around the kitten as he rolled, but he was disoriented and dazed, and it took him a moment to come to himself and lurch to his feet.

What he saw was both brilliant and terrifying.

Buffy was facing down a huge, sleek lioness, turning slowly as it circled her. She had a grim look on her face, her jaw set, but her eyes flickered to Spike as he stood, and he thought he saw a wave of relief cross her face.

“Spike, take the kitten and go,” she hissed.

“Not leaving you,” he snarled back, though he was still too dizzy to do more than stumble a few steps in her direction, but then the lioness attacked and Spike could only watch in awe.

Buffy easily dodged the huge, slashing claws, lashing out with a solid kick to the side of the head – _good girl, remembered the plan!_ – and then she spun around and leaped on the beast’s back, wrestling it to the ground as it snarled and snapped futilely at the air. With a prodigious twist and roll, Buffy flung the lioness towards the pool, where it landed with an immense splash.

“Go!” she shouted, and Spike went, dashing back to the carnival side of the tent, holding open the tent flap for Buffy as she dashed through, handing off the kitten to her and blocking the path behind her, arms spread wide, because he was thinking clearly again and bugger it all, if any heads were getting bitten off his was the obvious choice.

And there was always the very faint chance it wouldn’t go for the head.

But apparently the lioness was less than hungry; the tent flap stayed shut, and when Buffy shouted “Come _on_ , Spike!” from the other side of the fence, he turned and followed her until they were both standing in the clear. He could hear the kitten meowing from inside the basket – he bloody well hoped it was shut tight this time – and he was reaching out to Buffy to check her over for injuries when she beat him to it, pulling him down to where she could inspect his cheek where the lioness had got him.

“Oh god,” she muttered. “I thought you were dead, I thought we were both dead…” and then she was kissing him, desperate and hungry and god it was glorious, she was still hot from battle and salty with sweat, and they stumbled together off to a dim corner far from prying eyes, hands fumbling and bodies straining, and Spike was dizzy again, he was beginning to think the lioness had got his head after all and he was wafting about in post-dust delirium on his way to hell, because oh god this could not be happening, Buffy could not possibly be in his arms kissing him like he was the air she breathed, except she was, she _was_ , she was hot and wild and _real_ and when she finally broke away, gasping, he hugged her to his chest and gazed up at the sky – not so many stars here, but at the same time it was the most beautiful night sky ever – and wondered how the hell this could even be happening.

Eventually, Buffy’s breathing slowed and her arms snaked tight around his waist and they stood there, clinging together like limpets, far longer than Spike had ever dreamed. Buffy rubbed her cheek against him.

“Gotta be nice for the lions,” she said at last. “They don’t live in a cage at all. They’ve got their own special Pridelands, and the carnival is, like, their veranda.”

“Yeah, lucky them,” Spike muttered.

“No, it’s really nice,” Buffy said earnestly, looking up at him. “You hear stories, you know, about how terrible animals in captivity get treated sometimes. That’s why we went all the way up the coast to sell the horses.” She looked down, blushing gorgeously. “I did a whole bunch of research on the internet, y’know? Found a place that has a nice farm for the horses to run around on when they’re not onstage. High marks from all the animal rights organizations.” She frowned pensively. “Except that one, but they’re… kinda fringey.”

Spike didn’t give a good goddamn about the horses’ bloody habitat, but it was bleeding adorable how much Buffy cared. And god knew he’d take any excuse to kiss Buffy again. So he did.

The next time Buffy needed to come up for air, she gave him a tight, hard hug and stepped away.

“We got the kitten,” she said, voice determinedly normal.

Spike inhaled, then exhaled, then nodded. “That we did.” He reluctantly released her, settling his duster about his shoulders as she tugged her clothing back into a semblance of order.

“Right, then.”

They collected the basket and headed back to the entrance.

 

[GO TO CHAPTER 3](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20978696)


	107. Chapter 107

Buffy ran off in the direction Spike had chosen, hanging on tightly to his hand. She was all aquiver for some reason, except she knew what the reason was, she just didn’t want to put it into words, not even in her head. It was just too new.

She definitely planned on putting it into action, though, as soon as they had a little privacy.

They ended up standing in the middle of the midway, the smell of deep-fried deliciousness filling the air.

“Did you see which way it went?” Spike said, voice casual and even.

“Nope,” Buffy replied, just as casually. “It could have gone anywhere.”

It would have all been very businesslike, two allies engaged in pursuit of a common goal, if they weren’t still holding hands – and now that they were standing still, Buffy found herself shifting closer, so their arms were touching from wrist to shoulder, her bare skin rubbing deliciously against the leather of his duster. She felt faint.

Still, she couldn’t help but look longingly at the brightly-lit food stands. Evil or not, there was something about carnival food that was irresistible. It all smelled so good. Something that smelled _good_ couldn’t truly be _evil_ , right? Wasn’t that how it worked?

 “Hunting kittens is hungry work,” Spike said offhandedly. “Buy you a treat, Slayer?”

Buffy nudged her shoulder into his. “Buy? I thought you were some kind of Big Bad.”

“You’d rather I _steal_ you a treat, Slayer? You trade in your white hat for something more grayish?” He was looking around them, acting casual, but she could feel him leaning into her.

“Of course not. Just… It just seems a little, I don’t know, not-vampirey. Buying goodies at the fair.” She wiggled his hand, teasing.

He looked at her sidelong. “Would it make you feel better if I told you the money was stolen?”

“No!” She looked at him suspiciously. “Is it stolen?”

Spike rolled his shoulders and sniffed, looking away. “Know better than that, don’t I? Been keeping my nose clean while ‘m running with your gang.” He shrugged, looking vaguely embarrassed. “Won it fair and square playing pool.”

“Oh, now _there’s_ a legitimate source of income.” Buffy stepped around in front of him challengingly.

“What, it’s not like I cheat!” He paused, then shrugged, nonchalantly taking up her other hand, looking down at the ground between them. “Not much, at least. But anyone daft enough to lay their money down against a bloke like me deserves to be taken.”

“Uh-huh.” Buffy narrowed her eyes.

Spike squirmed a bit under her gaze, then made a frustrated face. “Bugger. Didn’t even cheat, all right? Bastard wasn’t even drunk.” He glared down at Buffy, eyelids drooping. “You’re ruining my bloody reputation, you are. No wonder the gents at Willy’s don’t even tremble when I walk in these days.”

“Poor Spikey,” Buffy said facetiously, leaning just a hair closer. “Not getting his evil on.”

Spike met her eyes with a dark, penetrating look. “Well, ‘course not. You name one evil thing I’ve done in the last three months.”

Buffy thought about mentioning the kitten poker, but it seemed a little more petty-mischief than evil, so she just shrugged in acknowledgment.

Spike grinned down at her, squeezing her fingers. “You know what they say, Slayer. Evil is as evil does. Might as well fit me for a white hat at this rate.” He shrugged thoughtfully. “Or at least something grayish. Now, getting back to business. Buy you a treat?” He let go of her hands, gesturing magnanimously at the concession stands.

Buffy tried not to feel disappointed that he’d moved out of kissing range. “Sure, why not?”

 

What does Buffy want to eat?

Funnel Cakes: [GO TO CHAPTER 83](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981624)

Blooming Onion: [GO TO CHAPTER 129](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982737)

Belgian Waffles: [GO TO CHAPTER 7](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20978798)


	108. Chapter 108

Once they had made it to Sunnydale Memorial Hospital, Giles had recovered quickly despite the strain of being carried on horseback – though their little cavalry detachment had raised some eyebrows among the usually-unflappable paramedics – and subsequent research had confirmed that Glory was gone for good. Which was nice, of course, but felt a bit… anticlimactic. It was beyond weird to have made it through May without an actual attempt at an apocalypse.

In the end, though, Buffy couldn’t find it in her heart to be unhappy. After all, any apocalypse season you walked away from was a good deal for a slayer, and a nice quiet summer was just what the doctor had ordered after the tension and stress of those last weeks.

She mentioned as much to Spike when they were driving home from the jousting-themed restaurant up the coast that had agreed to purchase the horses, for a sum that had made Buffy’s eyes bug out. He gave her a wry sidelong glance as he casually steered the huge rented horse trailer along the interstate, going the speed limit (or at least not _too_ much over it) at her insistence.

“Quiet, eh? Gonna hang up your stakes for the summer?”

“I didn’t say that. I’m going to keep patrolling. I just… I just think I need a break from Big Bads, you know? I’m hoping for a summer full of Little Bads. Mildly Naughty instead of Rarr! Apocalypsey.”

Spike’s mouth worked for a bit as if he was chewing over multiple responses, but finally he just said, “Naughty, eh?”

Buffy felt her face turning red. “You know what I mean.”

Another long pause, then Spike’s jaw twitched. “Know you don’t mean me,” he said in an offhand voice before looking over again. “I don’t do _mild_.”

Buffy’s eyebrows shot up. “Does this mean you don’t want to help patrol, then?”

Spike turned to her with an unreadable expression, the highway lights making his eyes glitter. “Is that an invitation?”

“Maybe,” Buffy shrugged, looking out the window. “You really came through for me… for us, you know, with the Knights of Byzantium and all. You’re a good fighter. And… it wouldn’t be every night, of course. Most nights I go out alone.”

“Huh.” Spike steered in silence for a long time before continuing with a shrug. “Suppose I could pitch in once in a while. Not too often, you understand. Rebel like me can’t be tied down by schedules and whatnot.”

“Gotcha.”

They had driven another mile or so when Spike glanced over at the trailer’s digital clock. “Be past midnight when we get in,” he said. “You gonna patrol?”

“Probably.” She toyed with the handle of her purse.

“Alone?”

“That was the plan.”

“Right.” Spike kept driving.

Neither of them mentioned patrol or slayage or anything fighty for the rest of the trip – though they did have a rousing argument about Dawson’s Creek – and it wasn’t until the trailer was parked in front of Buffy’s house that the subject came up again. Spike handed over the keys so Xander could return it the next day, then glanced up at the darkened Summers house.

“Little bit in bed, then?”

“Probably. Willow and Tara were supposed to strictly enforce a nine p.m. bedtime. Which probably means they watched Bollywood movies until eleven, but at least she wasn’t out chasing boys. I’ll check on her before I head out.”

“All right, then.” Spike glanced around the street. “Guess I’ll be shoving off.”

Buffy sighed. Why did he have to make her say it? “Spike, do you want to patrol with me tonight?”

He shrugged in elaborate unconcern, then spoiled the effect with a grin. “Yeah, all right.”

And that was that.

*

And the summer had turned out to be quiet after all. Half the time, Buffy was on her third or fourth cemetery before she found anything to slay, and half of those were paltry fledges that barely gave her a workout. She found herself dropping by to pick up Spike more and more often, just so she would have someone to talk to on the slow nights – and after the second or third time he’d bogarted the slayage, she finally got it through his thick skull (it being connected to his so-punchable nose) that his letting her do most of the killing was a non-negotiable condition of his patrol-buddy status.

What was weird – in a kind of creepy way, if Buffy were honest – were the other ways Spike had assimilated into the Scoobies. It made sense that he’d attend Scooby meetings, since he was patrolling with her and could contribute to reports, but it was freaky that he stayed around when they cracked the books, too, sometimes even getting into it with Giles over Latin translations. And then he somehow ended up being a part of their Bronze nights, too – which made a certain amount of sense, he was basically a Bronze regular, but chatting with Anya? Playing pool with Xander? Dancing with, of all people, _Tara_? It was just… weird.

She’d asked Xander about it at one point, when he’d waved Spike off with a friendly, “See you tomorrow, Evil Undead!”

“Well, the thing is,” Xander had shrugged, “he’s a _guy._ With Oz off doing his Zen thing, and no other guys around, I find myself fairly desperate for male company.”

“Giles is a guy.”

“Yes, but Giles is old.”

“…You do realize that Spike is at least twice as old as Giles?”

“Yes, but Giles is old and _British._ ”

Buffy cocked an eyebrow. Or, well, both eyebrows, since she’d never mastered the one-eyebrow thing.

Xander sighed, running a hand through his hair. “All right, just hear me out. You remember that night a few weeks back, when Spike had that black eye he wouldn’t talk about?”

“That was you?” That… hadn’t been much of a black eye, just the faintest hint of a bruise, but she had found herself really noticing anytime Spike’s face had any sort of damage. He was weirdly good-looking when he was a bit beat-up.

Xander nodded. “We’d had a kind of… I don’t want to say _bonding experience,_ but we’ll go with that for now, when we were holed up in that gas station. So yeah, it kind of made sense that we’d have something of a truce after that, but then I started thinking.” He looked away. “About Jesse.”

“Because he was killed by a vamp?”

His face was somber. “Because he _was_ a vamp. And then I was thinking, if Spike is a vamp, and I can hang out with him, why couldn’t I hang out with Jesse? Even if I had to go all Shaun-of-the-Dead on him and chain him up in the closet, we could have, I dunno, played video games or something, right? And then I couldn’t stop thinking about how I was the one to stake Jesse. Me, not you. And if he could have been rehabilitated into a hang-outable friend… what did that make me, the guy who killed him?”

“Xander, that wasn’t your fault…”

He interrupted her. “I’m not done yet. So anyhow, there I was, hating myself for killing my best guy friend, and the more I stewed about it the more it turned into hating Spike for being a halfway-decent guy friend, and in the end I busted into Spike’s crypt and popped him one.” Xander shoved his hands in his pockets. “It really wasn’t my best moment. So I yelled at Spike, and he yelled at me, and somehow we ended up sitting around sharing a bottle of Jack Daniels. Next thing I know he’s asking me how it happened. Like, details. How long Jesse was missing before he turned up again. That sort of thing.”

Buffy couldn’t think of anything to say.

Xander went on. “Then he told me a story. Well, not so much a story, I guess. It was kind of sparse on the plot and character development. Anyhow, he didn’t really go into the gory details, but the gist of it was, apparently when a vamp sires another vamp, they get to decide how much effort to put into it. If they want a companion, they take their time, do it right. If all they need is a minion, cannon fodder, they might rush things a little. And then there’s something even below that.” Xander pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. “Apparently this is something Angel used to do, when he was working on a victim he really cared about. Turn someone she loved and send them to her with a message. The kind of message the messenger doesn’t come back from, y’know?” He sighed gustily. “They didn’t turn Jesse into a vampire. They turned him into a bomb.”

“…Oh.”

“Yeah.” Then Xander grinned, that grin he put on when he was trying to joke his way out of a tight spot. “You know what’s funny, though? That made me feel… not better, because I still miss Jesse. Even though we don’t talk about him ever, I miss him every day. Plus, I had the mother of all hangovers the next morning. But I still feel cleaner somehow. Like something got flushed away. And what the hey, Spike plays a pretty good game of pool, when he’s not cheating. I guess if I can date an ex-demon who used to eviscerate men for fun and profit, I can have a pool buddy who used to eat people. It’s not like they’re doing it anymore. Only fair to give them a chance for redemption.”

“Redemption.”

“Yeah, I see that look in your eyes. The _oh my god pod people have replaced Xander with a near-perfect yet flawed facsimile_ look. But what can I say? I miss having a guy to hang out with.”

Buffy grinned. “Even though Spike is, like Giles, both old and British?”

“See, the thing is, Giles revels in his olditude. I hung out with him a lot last year, and let me tell you, I never thought I would need a word more uptight than _stodgy_ , but Giles really defies the dictionary. If he could find a Fountain of Old Age, he’d dive right in. Meanwhile Spike… well, he’s got kind of a Lost Boys vibe.”

“What, like Keifer Sutherland?”

“Think more Peter Pan. Like he’s never going to grow up all the way.”

  _He’s plenty grown up for me_ , Buffy’s bad brain interjected, but she nodded anyhow, because she had to agree. Spike didn’t feel like Giles, or a teacher, or a parent, or any category of responsible adult. He felt like… Well, he felt like a Scooby.

And just thinking that thought was the weirdest thing of all.

*

Buffy tried not to dwell too much on that conversation as the summer progressed, because it was all too easy to draw parallels and conclusions that made her feel sick inside, like kicking over a rock and finding a nest of centipedes. Because Spike… didn’t have a soul. And yet, he was a useful ally on patrol, unstinting and reliable. And he had turned out to be an entertaining companion, now that he had been accepted into the group. And even though he was loud in his protestations that he was only hanging out with them so he could get his violence on, he kept doing things that… didn’t fit. Things that, if he were anything but an evil vampire, Buffy would classify as _friendship_.

After the tenth, or maybe hundredth time Buffy thought that, she set her jaw and admitted the truth. It _was_ friendship, and she was just lying to herself because… the truth hurt. And it upset everything she had thought she knew, about souls and people and good and evil and vampires and… and love. She had been so certain she knew the score, and now she wasn’t even sure she knew what game she was supposed to be playing.

But this was supposed to be Buffy’s Nice Quiet Summer – she was starting to think of it capitalized now, like it was Lollapalooza – and so she quietly backburnered the whole thing. Time enough to think about metaphysics when college classes started up again in the fall; she might even register for a philosophy course, so she could get college credit for all her thinky thoughts. In the meantime, she settled for a little mental reclassification. Not passing judgment, not yet, just a temporary thing, so she could finish out her summer thinky-thought-free.

Now, in her internal categorization of “vampires,” she had the huge slayable mass of “evil vampires” and the lonely pinprick of “Angel, the Vampire with a Soul.”

And then there was Spike.

*

Buffy really was a pro at not thinking about things she didn’t want to think about, so her clever procrastination on the Question of Spike might have lasted the rest of the summer, if she hadn’t gone and messed things up.

The problem was, she hadn’t just been noticing that Spike was funny and helpful and loyal and all that friend-y stuff. She had also been noticing, more and more, that Spike was…

Well, _hot._

Okay, so she’d always known he was good-looking, from the moment she’d first laid eyes on him in an alley, the slow clap and the sexy drawl and that smoking look he’d raked her with when he’d said he was going to kill her, but she’d also known he was evil, which was itself a pretty good mood-killer. And sure, she’d had the occasional dream – nightmare, she hastily revised – in which he’d unleashed some sexybad on her, especially after she’d had enough sex for her sleeping brain to improvise off of. And then there had been that spell of Willow’s, when she’d found out for damn sure that he knew what to do with his lips and his hands, which had given her even more fuel. But all along, she had known: evil vampire equals bad. That was a pretty firm line, and Spike had always been on the wrong side of it. End of story.

But as the summer moved on, Buffy slowly came to realize that an unintended side effect of splitting Spike off from the mass of “evil vampires” into his own category was that he was now, somehow, on _her_ side of the line.

And thus his hotness was no longer a moot point.

Buffy had firmly reminded herself that this was her Nice Quiet Summer and shoved all _those_ thoughts onto the backburner as well – it was getting crowded back there – and gone on with what she’d been doing. Which – she admitted to herself now – had basically been hanging out with Spike. A lot. Patrolling together and Bronzing together and sitting on her back porch talking and laughing and asking him in for cocoa – which she knew she didn’t make as well as her mom had but he acted like she did – and doing the sorts of things one did while engaged in the important business of patrol with a vampire ally who wasn’t even remotely in the running to become her boyfriend. And then Buffy had gone and blown her Nice Quiet Summer to smithereens.

She’d kissed him.

They had been sitting on her back porch, companionably relaxing after a vigorous patrol, and he had taken her chin in his hand, tilted it to get a better look at a bruise on her cheek, and she had looked up at him, the harsh lines of his cheekbones softened by the porch light, and she’d lifted her chin and his lips had been there, cool and soft and startled, and she’d kissed him until he kissed her back, groaning deep in his throat, his hands settling lightly on her shoulders, and then she had heard Dawn’s voice from inside and her eyes had met his, terror reflecting terror, and she had fled into the house and up the stairs and tumbled trembling onto her bed, eyes staring at the ceiling as her hand pressed his kisses hard into her lips, like flowers between the pages of a book.

But in the end it had been just a kiss, she’d reminded herself, and she’d kissed plenty of boys before – including Spike himself, under magical influence – and it should by rights have faded away, allowing her to get on with the important business of patrol with her vampire ally who wasn’t even remotely in the running to be her boyfriend.

Except.

That night, when she had gone in for her post-patrol shower, she had – like any normal modern adult woman, she reassured herself – decided to give herself a little pick-me-up. Nothing fancy, of course, just a little strategically applied loofah, a touch of fantasy, a little self-gratification, easy cleanup because shower, and presto! Ready for bed. And that was okay. It was, all the books and advice columns assured her, a perfectly normal and healthy thing for a woman to do.

And it had all started off great, until her fantasy lover – normally a nondescript blend of various attractive Hollywood stars, to avoid complication – shocked her by murmuring sweet nothings in her ear in a distinctive British accent. Which was kind of weird because, hello! She was the one imagining the lover, shouldn’t she be in charge of what he sounded like? But then her imagination insisted on the platinum-blond hair, and the sweeping cheekbones, and every time her mind’s eye added a new Spikeish detail she got hotter, and somewhere along the line she just gave up and admitted it. She was in the shower fantasizing about Spike, in vivid technicolor-surround-sound detail, and in the process she had brought herself off more times than she usually did in a month.

And then the next day, she had been cooking up breakfast in the morning and had almost burned the eggs when she drifted off thinking about Spike kissing her. Except not on the lips.

And then at lunch, her mind had wandered off on an elaborate path that, in her imagination, had ended with her kicking down the door of Spike’s crypt and kissing him up against her favorite twisting-Spike’s-arm pillar. And then doing some other things up against that pillar that she was not entirely sure were physically possible.

And then she had helped Dawn pack for her trip to Aunt Arlene’s and bustled her off to the airport, and when she had waved goodbye at the gate, her first thought was how nice it was that she had the house to herself, so she didn’t have to try to be quiet.

And then she had gone home and arbitrarily decided that her post-patrol shower needed to be a pre-patrol shower, and then said pre-patrol shower had turned into an instead-of-patrol shower, because as it turned out, she had a really, really vivid imagination. And also, it really was good that Dawn was gone, because fantasy-lover-Spike really knew what he was doing.

She would bet a whole bucket of Skittles that real-world-Spike did too.

It was a little weird that Spike hadn’t shown up for patrol that night, but it did make things easier, because after her pre-post-instead-of-patrol shower it was pretty obvious that her months of celibacy – and, if she were totally honest, months before that of fairly predictable sex with a fairly unimaginative lover – had left her with some serious depravity on her mind, and it was probably for the best that she take the evening to work it out of her system so that she could get back to the important business of patrol with her vampire ally who wasn’t even remotely in the running to be her boyfriend. Since it wasn’t fading away on its own, it was obviously Buffy’s sacred duty to spend the whole evening indulging and thus exorcising her fantasies. For the greater good.

Except.

She had done really well with the indulging part, starting off with a post-pre-post-instead-of-patrol-shower-shower, and then a goodly serving of fantasy-under-the-covers, and then, when she went down to the basement to fetch clean sheets, a quick-and-dirty bent-over-the-washing-machine orgasm, finishing up with a long and luxurious bubble bath, which got so vigorous that she needed to head down to the basement again for more towels. And then she’d gone to bed, virtuously imagining that when she woke up in the morning everything would be back to normal and she would have rid herself of all that pesky lust and badness.

When she woke up flushed and sweaty after an extremely detailed dream involving Spike, a container of chocolate sauce, and an eggbeater, she knew she was in trouble.

Fortunately, Giles had called her early in the afternoon to tell her about the mysterious and probably-nefarious carnival, and she had thought it would be a welcome distraction… right up until she had seen Spike standing in front of the entrance, looking cool and grouchy and incredibly sexy, and dear god how she wanted him to kiss her.

Maybe if he kissed her again, it would be bad and she could move on.

Maybe if he kissed her again, it would be nice but she would still be able to move on.

Maybe what she needed to do to clear out her fantasies was to indulge them all in real life, especially the bit with the chocolate sauce, and then she would have them out of her system and she could get on with the important business of yadda yadda yadda.

God, maybe he didn’t even _want_ to kiss her again, because _he’d_ gotten _her_ out of _his_ system, and she was doomed to a future of loofah orgasms and kinky dreams.

And then, while she was still all twisted up with confusion and shyness and – she was a modern woman, she could admit it – lust, Spike glanced up at her with a guarded look and said, “Hello, Buffy,” in a voice just like melted chocolate.

Oh god.

*

Andrew cupped his hands reverently around the sleek device in his hands, watching the little baseball-capped Andrew on the screen walking just as he walked, like his very own Mini-me. He felt like the secret king of the world, the wizard behind the curtain, the puppet master pulling the strings of the Freemasons and the Illuminati and all the secret societies of the world, because what he held in his hands… well, it was proof.

Proof that time travel was possible.

Just the night before, he had been sitting in his bedroom wondering just what he should do now that he had finally graduated high school – not Sunnydale High, where he had spent the first two years of his secondary educational career, because it was hard to graduate from a place that had gotten all blown up, but the private high school his parents had insisted would keep him from meeting a Bad End like his big brother Tucker – and had just about made up his mind to accept Tucker’s friend Warren’s invitation to play video games as a good first step towards his future awesome adult life, when there had been a crackle of electricity and a sudden scent of ozone, and then he’d been standing there.

Like, _he_ had been standing there, Andrew Wells himself, standing in front of Andrew Wells himself, two Andrews at the same time, just like in that episode of Star Trek, and that episode of Doctor Who, and that other episode of that other show, and _Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure_ , and… well, the list of stories where the hero met himself was too long to go through even in his head, but he knew all of them, and still none of them had prepared him for how _cool_ it was to suddenly be staring at Other Andrew, looking all Matrix-y in a black leather duster and sleek sunglasses.

Of course they also hadn’t prepared him for the shock of seeing himself _old_ , but he should have expected it, since technology couldn’t possibly advance enough for time travel until at least 2020.

Future-Andrew had shaken his head when he had said that as part of his babbling monologue – because really, who could keep from babbling when _time travel had just happened_ – and said with a faint, smug smile. “You underestimate my powers, Young Andrew. I come from the year Two-Thousand and Sixteen.”

“Really?” Andrew was suspicious at first, because Warren had talked about how he’d made a robot girlfriend, and he didn’t put it past the jerk to make a fake-robot-Andrew just to mess with him. “How do I know you’re from the future?”

“Ah,” said Future-Andrew. “I cannot reveal events yet to come, lest I destroy my own past. But there is something I can show you that will prove my provenance.”

“Really?” Andrew bounced a little on his bed. “Do you have, like, lottery numbers or stock tips?”

“Even better,” Future-Andrew smiled. “Do you see this device?” He held out something flat and shiny that covered the palm of his hand. “This, O younger self, is what we in the Future call a Smart Phone.”

Andrew leaned over and looked at it; the screen sprang to life, brilliant high-fidelity, showing a picture of Future Andrew standing next to… oh wow, was that Stan Lee?

Future Andrew swirled his finger in a mysterious pattern on the flat screen, and the picture disappeared to show a number of square icons. “In the Future, we use these Smart Phones for oh-so-many purposes. Accessing the Internet, where we may not only read the finest fanfiction but may also enjoy memes and LOLcats. Purchasing and listening to music. Finding the finest shopping and dining establishments. And…” He touched an icon, and familiar-sounding music began to play. “…watching movies.”

“Oh. My. God.” Andrew felt himself start to hyperventilate. “Is that… Is that Star Wars Episode Two? Not due out in theatres until May of 2002?”

Future-Andrew shook his head sadly. “I regret to inform you that the highly-anticipated Episode Two will prove a disappointment to you. Tragically, Episode Three will not rescue the franchise. I felt it… kinder not to inflict them upon you, and advise you to see them only once – on opening night, of course – so that you then have the knowledge and standing to complain about them online. No, Younger Me, I have instead brought you… Episode Seven.” He handed the Smart Phone over. “You will need a box of tissues.”

Andrew felt tears welling up in his eyes as he took the phone. “I have waited for this movie all my life.”

With a light touch, Future Andrew paused the movie and returned to the field of icons. “That is not all I have brought you. Do you remember what you decided you wanted to grow up to be, that fateful day in Nineteen Ninety-Eight?”

“September Eighth,” Andrew breathed. “At the tender age of fifteen, I decided I wanted to be…”

“…A Pokémon Master,” Future Andrew finished. “You knew from the very first episode of that life-changing anime that you had found your destiny.”

Andrew frowned, remembered bitterness welling up. “Yeah. Then Mom said Pokémon weren’t real. And she made me study for my Chemistry test instead of training to throw balls accurately.”

“We wept into our pillow that night, did we not?” Future-Andrew touched another icon. “But now, now our dream is real. This, Me of the Past, is what we in the Future call Pokémon Go.” The screen shifted until it showed a green field – as Andrew looked more closely he could see that it was a map of his very neighborhood, his house shadowed delicately, an icon who looked remarkably like Andrew himself standing in the midst of the green. “With this Smart Phone, which I have through a clever mixture of magic and technology enabled to speak to servers in the Future, you can catch all of the Pokémon long before anyone else on Earth even has access to the game. You, my younger self, shall be the world’s first True Pokémon Master.” The Smart Phone vibrated as a tiny purple rat appeared on the screen by mini-Andrew’s feet. “Why, look! A Rattata. Come, Young Andrew. Let me teach you how to catch your first Pokémon.”

When they were done and he had learned how to best cast his Poké Ball, Andrew could feel tears rolling down his cheeks. “Oh, thank you, Future Me!” he sobbed. “How can I ever repay you for this priceless gift?”

“Well, now that you mention it, Younger Me, I do have a very small, trifling suggestion. There are those who would sully your future by entrapping you into their nefarious plans for ruling Sunnydale. My only request is that you reject their diabolical blandishments and stay true to your best self. Be a leader, not a follower. Be… a Pokémon Master.”

Andrew blinked.

Future Andrew sighed in frustration. “Don’t hang out with Warren and Jonathan. They’re lame.”

“Oh.” Andrew looked down at the Very Smart Phone. “I guess I could do that.”

“And now, Very Young Myself, I must return to the Future, where my wisdom and judgment are much in demand.” Future Andrew stood, tugging at the lapels of his duster, pulled a device out his pocket, fiddled with it for a moment, and was gone.

Andrew had barely managed to sleep that night, and then when he woke up had started a marathon of the Star Wars Original Trilogy so that he could go into Episode Seven fully prepared, but then after he finished _Return of the Jedi_ he had been unable to resist going out walking to try and catch some Pokémon. There was a place that had a whole bunch of Pokéstops and two gyms that in present-day Sunnydale was out at the edge of town but in Future Sunnydale was apparently a community college, and so he headed in that direction. He would catch enough Pokémon to go up a few more levels, then head home and reward himself with some Dr. Pepper and Episode Seven.

He was so intent on his screen that he didn’t even notice the tents until he walked into one.

“Oh hey, a carnival!”

*

Sod’s Law was the only law on earth Spike considered himself subject to – he even thumbed his nose at the Law of Gravity on a regular basis – so he shouldn’t have been surprised when a simple kitten drop had turned into a bloody Scooby reunion, Buffy looking at him like she wanted.... Well, he didn’t bloody well _know_ what she wanted, which was what made it miserable, her looking at him with those bloody gorgeous eyes, probably plotting his fiery and/or dusty death from the heat behind them. But her eyes were there, deadly or no, and he couldn’t look away, and his bloody brain was coming up with bugger-all to say after his initial greeting.

Fortunately, he was saved from his conversational block when the basket slung over his arm wriggled, the kittens inside mewing plaintively. _Un_ fortunately, Buffy’s eyes flew to the basket like an arrow, narrowing in suspicion. Spike tried to look casual and unconcerned.

“What’s in the basket?” Buffy finally asked in a sweet, reasonable tone of voice, like honey in a trap.

“Nothing.” The basket mewed again pointedly.

Tara peered closely at the side of the basket. “Was that a…?”

Spike set his jaw in frustration. “Kittens, all right? It’s a basket of kittens.”

With a sigh, Buffy looked heavenward. “Spike, I’m sure I’m going to regret asking this, but… _why_ do you have a basket of kittens?”

“I’m on my way to grandmother’s house,” Spike snapped.

Buffy folded her arms and looked at him expectantly, with that bloody unfair expression that made him spill his guts every bloody time.

“Paying off a debt,” he finally grumbled. “Went skint playing poker, need to settle my marker.”

“You _gamble_ for _kittens_?” Buffy’s face crumpled into something between disgust and confusion, and how bloody pathetic was it that Spike found even that gorgeous? He was in need of some serious help.

“Kittens are actually quite popular on the demon black market,” Giles interjected. “When I first took over the Magic Box, I unearthed records of the previous owner doing business with several of the local animal shelters for what I can only describe as… money laundering. It seems they function as an alternate form of currency, particularly amongst those demons that cannot easily pass for human and thus participate in the legitimate economy.” He pushed his glasses up his nose. “Also, I hear they are, er, delicious.”

“Money laundering?” Buffy raised an eyebrow at Spike. “So, what, this is the demon equivalent of a briefcase full of bills?”

Willow craned her neck to peer at the basket. “Do the kittens have to be non-sequential?”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Right then. If we’re all done judging Spike’s unlife choices, I’d like to get on with the incredibly ridiculous task of finding my loan shark in this… whatever the bleeding hell this is.”

“It’s a carnival,” Anya said helpfully.

God, would Buffy just stake him already? “Yeah, I got that.”

Xander looked like he had something to say, but Anya turned to him, unwrapping another cupcake and stuffing it in his mouth. “Here, sweetie. You have to finish the whole box or you won’t be able to resist the unclean allure of the cotton candy of evil.” She turned to Tara confidingly. “He’s very proud of his ability to fit a whole snack cake in his mouth. He says it’s good training for kissing.”

Tara nodded vaguely.

That was it, Spike was done. If he had to listen to another second of Scooby inanities he was going to spontaneously crumble into dust. He gave Buffy one last glare – she was still watching him, silently, mouth twitching with amusement – and turned to stalk off.

He crashed right into a weedy-looking kid who was fiddling furiously with some lit-up device, sending both of them sprawling on the ground, a jolt of pain piercing Spike’s head as the chip fired off.

“Ow!” the teenager whined, eyes wide with panic as he scrabbled around for his whatzit. “Damn it, if you made me break my Very Smart Phone I’m gonna…” He trailed off as he finally looked at Spike, eyes wide. “Oh. Um, never mind.”

Spike grinned, because even with the headache the collision had given him, he never got tired of inspiring fear and awe. “Got a problem, mate?”

“N-no, no problem, I…” The boy trailed off, frowning thoughtfully at something past Spike’s shoulder. “Hey, are those your kittens?”

Spike turned just in time to see his three kittens gamboling off into the carnival, each in a different direction.

“Bugger!” He rolled to his feet.

“Oh, no,” Buffy said sweetly. “Looks like you’re going to have to pay a late fee.”

Spike glared at her. “Yeah, well, bloke I’m dealing with doesn’t do late fees. He mostly just bites off heads.”

Buffy blinked, then her face got serious. “Need help rounding them up?”

He stared at her for a long time, because… well, yeah, they’d been fighting side by side for months now, but it still felt unreal every time she treated him like he belonged. “Yeah,” he finally said. “Much obliged.”

Buffy turned to her friends - maybe _their_ friends, Spike suddenly thought, looking at their eager faces – slipping immediately into leader mode. “Teams of two. Meet up by the entrance every half-hour or so to check in. Try not to get caught up in anything too evil. Giles, you can be home base.”

“Ah, yes, exactly what I had always dreamed of being,” Giles said in weary sarcasm.

Buffy ignored him, sweeping a determined glance over the group. “Everyone good?”

The Scoobies nodded vigorously. Willow and Tara headed off in one direction, Xander and Anya in another, while Giles found a seat on a bench and pulled out a small leather-bound book and a pencil.

Then Buffy turned to Spike and took his hand, unhesitating, as if it was something she did every day instead of a bloody miracle. “Which one should we go after first?”

 

Calico: [GO TO CHAPTER 127](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982716)

Siamese: [GO TO CHAPTER 107](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982185)

Black: [GO TO CHAPTER 128](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982728)


	109. Chapter 109

A little hot funnel-cake with extra powdered sugar seemed like absolute heaven, and Buffy felt like a kid again as she watched the concession worker drizzling the batter into the hot oil, where it fused and puffed and crisped up into one of her favorite treats ever.

“I used to get these when I was little,” she told Spike as she accepted the hot pastry. “Not at the fair, but in Los Angeles you can get stuff like this down at the pier.”

He smiled, eyes soft. “Well, happy to be of service.” He peered closely at it. “Never had one, myself.”

“Really?” Buffy shrugged. “Well, I _might_ be willing to share. Now, do you see our fugitive?

Spike scanned the area, his head jerking up.

“There it is!”

And sure enough, the black kitten was frolicking around the base of a huge, iffy-looking Ferris wheel, just inside the protective fencing.

Buffy frowned. “Think they’ll let us in to grab it?”

“What does it matter if they let us? What’s the phrase? Just do it.”

“Spike, if we get kicked out, that’s going to make it difficult to round up the other two.” Buffy shrugged. “But hey, it’s your head getting chomped on.”

Spike muttered something under his breath, then rolled his shoulders. “All right. We can pretend we’re getting on the ride, then grab the little bugger.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

The line was practically nonexistent, admissions manned by a short, balding man in a red-and-white striped jacket and a flat straw boater hat. He looked weirdly familiar to Buffy, and when they reached the front of the line, she gasped.

“Principal Snyder?”

Snyder’s eyes twitched. “Miss Summers. Should have known a delinquent like you would end up here on a school night.”

“But you’re… didn’t the Mayor eat you?” She glanced at Spike, who was munching interestedly on a bit of funnel cake, watching them like they were an episode of _Passions_. “I _knew_ this carnival was evil!”

Snyder gave her a poisonous glare, then held out his hand. “Tickets, please.”

Buffy blinked. “We don’t have any tickets.”

With a malicious grin, Snyder opened a gate that led from the line to… not in the line. “I’m afraid you can’t get on the ride without tickets. There’s a booth over there. Go purchase some, and then go back to the _end_ of the line.” He swept her with a scornful glance. “I’d suggest you go home and do some homework, but I know a lost cause when I see it.”

Buffy considered pointing out that it was summer, and that she was a college student now in any case, but she was pretty sure arguing with Snyder was a waste of time that could be better spent on… the kitten! Buffy looked over the fence at where the black kitten was ferociously grooming itself, just a few yards away. Maybe she could…

Snyder’s hand fell on her arm, and it felt… not right. “I wouldn’t if I were you, missy,” he said in a quiet, satisfied voice. The kind of voice that was a dare. And looking at his faintly glowing eyes, feeling the unnatural strength of his hand…. Well, ghost or zombie or whatever, Buffy was sure she could still kick his ass, but she was the one who’d insisted on not raising a fuss.

And what the hell, it was Spike’s supposedly-legitimately-earned money.

She grabbed Spike’s sleeve. “Come on. You’re buying.”

*

One overpriced roll of tickets later, Buffy and Spike were back at the front of the line. Snyder accepted their tickets gingerly, as if they were covered in mud, then opened the chain and waved them through to the Ferris wheel.

Buffy made a beeline straight for where she had last seen the kitten, then stopped short.

“Crap, where did it go?”

Spike looked around, then jerked his head at the Ferris wheel. “Over there, Slayer.” Sure enough, the kitten was stretched out along the seat of one of the Ferris wheel carriages, looking smug. As they watched, the wheel moved, another empty carriage sliding into position for boarding.

Snyder’s sneering voice came from behind them. “Passengers who do not board the ride promptly will forfeit their tickets and need to go through the line again.”

“Ugh.” Buffy tugged Spike after her. “Come on. At least we can keep an eye on it, catch it when we get off, right?”

They clambered into the swinging carriage, assisted by a teen that Buffy thought might have been part of her graduating class. One of the ones who hadn’t survived. He pressed the safety bar down until it locked in place, and then the Ferris wheel jerked into motion.

Spike settled into the seat as they moved backwards, offering Buffy the carton of funnel cake. They had really gone “extra” with the extra powdered sugar; Buffy gingerly tugged out a piece, munching on it.

“Figures this place would be staffed by the dead,” she muttered as they made their first circuit. As they went over the top, she could see the kitten staring back at them, its yellow eyes reflecting bright pinpricks of light from the lightbulbs and neon of the ride. “It’s like Disneyland, if Disneyland were evil.”

“So, it’s exactly like Disneyland?”

Buffy glared at him. “Do _all_ my childhood dreams have to be shattered? Fine. It’s like Disneyland, except evil _er._ ” She took another piece of funnel cake, sighing when powdered sugar scattered all over her hand. “Did you remember to grab napkins?”

Spike caught her wrist. “Got something better,” he purred, and licked the powdered sugar right off her fingers, and oh god, every stroke of his tongue seemed to jolt right through her body, setting her aquiver.

When the powdered sugar was all gone, Buffy half expected him to let her hand go, but he simply caught her thumb between his teeth, eyes questioning.

She let her eyes close. “Yes,” she whispered. “Please.”

Neither of them noticed Snyder watching them go around and around, a satisfied smile on his face.

*

Willow knew this was a serious mission – head-chomping on the line and all – but it was hard to stay serious when you were chasing a Siamese kitten through a happy fun (maybe evil) carnival, holding hands with the woman you loved. She couldn’t keep from laughing, and when she looked over at Tara and saw her eyes shining… well, it wasn’t so long ago that she’d feared she’d lost her sweet lover for good, and every so often she’d think what a miracle it was, that they’d all come through all right after all.

Tara’s laughing face was always a miracle.

They’d had some serious heart-to-hearts after Glory and the Knights of Byzantium had been taken care of, and Willow felt like they’d come out the other side stronger, both in magic and in love. She’d gone to a dark place when she’d lost Tara, dark enough that the memory made her feel kinda sick, but Tara had helped her shine a little light in the corners of her magic, sweep out some of the cobwebs in her soul, and while she could still feel the darkness creeping around in her shadows, she felt… more secure somehow. Like the lightbulb that was Tara wouldn’t ever quite go out again, leaving her alone in the dark.

They stumbled to a gasping halt after a few minutes, giggling.

“Did you see where it went?” Tara gasped, breathless.

“No,” Willow giggled back. “But I bet it went in there.” She pointed to a food tent with a huge sign that said “Fusion Cuisine.”

“Hungry, are you?” Tara said, giving her that sidelong look Willow loved so much, the one full of promise, seductive and shy at the same time.

Willow grinned back. “You know I am.” She leaned in to give Tara’s ear a tiny nibble. “Food first.”

The interior of the tent was lit with lovely Japanese lanterns, the walls festooned with Middle Eastern textiles and a miniature Eiffel Tower set in the center of each table.

“What cuisines do you think they’re fusing?” Tara whispered.

Willow shrugged. “Who knows? I just wanted to get you someplace romantic.”

They settled at a table for two in the corner; Willow took Tara’s hands in hers, caressing them tenderly.

Their waiter came up, a nondescript man in cowboy boots and a sombrero. “What can I get y’all?” he drawled.

“Oh,” Willow looked around, but couldn’t see anything resembling a menu. “Um, do you have a house specialty?”

He smiled. “We surely do.”

“I’ll have that. Um, and some iced tea. Tara?”

“Same for me.”

Their waiter left, and they got back to the serious business of holding hands and gazing into each other’s eyes.

“You know what I wish?” Willow whispered softly. “I wish we could just stay like this forever. Just… your hands in mine, looking into your eyes…. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

Tara nodded, smiling gently.

A while later, though, Willow looked around in confusion. “Where’d our waiter go? You’d think we would have gotten our drinks by now.” She tried to stand but… Huh. Had she sat in something sticky without noticing? Her chair seemed to be stuck to her butt. She tried to stand up again, but was stopped by Tara’s gasp of horror.

“Our hands!”

Willow tried to let go of Tara’s hands but – they were stuck together too, like they’d been welded, and as Willow gazed upon them, the division between her fingers and Tara’s seemed to melt and dissolve, until their hands were just blobs of flesh.

Her eyes met Tara’s bleakly.

At least now they knew what was getting fused. It just wasn’t cuisine.

Not for them, at least.

*

Anya lost track of the calico kitten almost immediately, but she really didn’t care. Over a thousand years of existence, she had seen carnivals evolve from spare gatherings of wandering merchants with maybe a lame puppet show, to the glitzy laser-light-show extravaganza that was modern Barnum and Bailey’s, and in all that time, there was one thing she’d never done.

She’d never been to a carnival with a _date_.

“We have to do it all,” she told Xander excitedly. “We have to go on the rides, and you have to hold my hand, and we’ll scream and put our hands in the air, and I’ll pretend to be scared even though I’m really not, just so I can hug you, and we can kiss at the top of the Ferris wheel and sing “You’re The One That I Want” in the Funhouse and you can win me a big stuffed animal and…”

She kept on, listing all the things she wanted to do – over a thousand years she’d built up a good list, though she supposed she would have to go without the bear-baiting at this point – as Xander resignedly paid for a roll of ride tickets, shaking his head.

Then she saw it. The ride she’d been dreaming of.

The Tunnel of Love.

She dragged him to the entrance, past a food tent labeled “Fusion Cuisine,” ignoring his grunt of surprised and the muffled mumbling he made around his latest cupcake – was this the last one? She’d thought they were out by now, but apparently not. Xander was slacking, usually he could get through a box much faster.

“Two, please!” she bubbled at the uninterested ride operator.

Xander mumbled something unintelligible beside her, and she shushed him. “No talking, Xander. We’re setting sail for romance!” He sounded upset, probably because of the stupid kitten, but he’d settle down once they were a-smooching.

Their boat was just the way Anya had always dreamed, sparkly and froufy, with plenty of red; she settled happily on the waterproof cushion, tugging Xander down beside her.

“There, isn’t this nice?” She snuggled in to his chest. He hugged her tight, mumbling something through his cupcake. “Haven’t you finished that yet? We need to be smooching when we enter the tunnel, for maximum Tunnel of Love effect. I don’t want a mouthful of crumbs.” He mumbled again, upset, but Anya was putting her foot down on the crumbs thing. A girl had to have _some_ standards.

They rounded the curve to approach the Tunnel – oh, Anya hoped it was a _long_ tunnel! – and she lifted her face to Xander’s for their romantic kiss…

And froze.

Xander’s eyes were wild and frantic – which, well, was not totally unheard of when they were kissing, but certainly wasn’t the normal way of things – and there, where his sweet lips of sugar should have been – there was nothing. Just a smooth expanse of flesh where there should have been lips for the kissing.

She patted her fingers desperately over the smooth, not-at-all-kissable skin as Xander made talking noises from behind his fused lips.

“Well,” she said as the darkness of the tunnel enfolded them. “This sucks.”

*

Andrew glanced up briefly at a couple as they passed – were they the people outside the gate with that jerk who’d tried to break his very Smart Phone? – before returning his attention to his screen. He was very certain the Tunnel of Love was the perfect place to catch water Pokémon; he’d already found a Magikarp, but they were the wimps of the water Poké-world. He knew he could do better. Maybe even a Gyarados, because he’d looked at the evolution requirements for Magikarp, and they seemed like an awful lot of work.

After a while walking up and down inside the tunnel, the smacking sounds coming from the various passing lovebirds were starting to annoy him.

“Get a room, guys,” he muttered as his phone vibrated again.

Oh yes! A Gyarados! If he could manage to catch this one, he would truly be a Pokémon Master! He lined up a Great Ball and prepared to throw.

He barely noticed that the gentle splashing of water running down the Tunnel of Love had been replaced by a great whoosh of water as something huge loomed out of the water, but he did look up when he heard a great booming voice from high above peal out “ _Gyarados!_ ”

And he definitely noticed when the huge sea-serpent water Pokémon ate him.

That was hard to miss.

*

Giles finished making notations in his pocket journal – to be transcribed into his official journal later – and tucked it away, sighing. He considered himself still young at heart – though his body somehow refused to quite accede to his inner conviction – but he truly did not understand the appeal of cheap, heartburn-inducing foods and nauseating rides and unseemly sideshows. Bloody teenagers.

He swept his disdainful glance across the food stands clustered like vultures near the gate, each with its own revolting specialty. Deep-fried pickles. Corn dogs. And – as if he needed any further evidence of the depths to which American “cuisine” had sunk since its solid British roots – deep-fried butter.

Deep. Fried. Butter.

“How did they ever win the war?” he muttered.

Oddly, though, when he scanned the food trucks one more time from sheer boredom, he saw something unexpected. There, just past the deep-fried, bacon-wrapped weinerschnitzel booth, a rustic wooden sign swayed in a slight breeze, advertising the “Green Goose Inn.”

Curious.

He wended his way through the throng of people until he was standing before the improbable building. It was solid and weathered, with the look of a structure that had stood reliably in one place for centuries, and even knowing it was impossible, that it was undoubtedly an evil pub, he couldn’t help but poke his nose inside.

 _Merely assessing the evil,_ he reassured himself as he walked in. _It’s vitally important that the details of this circus phenomenon be recorded for posterity, and – good lord, fish and chips!_

He could feel his mouth watering at the sight of the basket being placed before another patron. Sunnydale had its charms – or at least he told himself it did – but he hadn’t had decent fish and chips since the last time he’d returned to the mother country, and these looked more than decent.

“Help you, sir?”

The barkeep even had a friendly North London accent, beaming from a cheerful round face, and Giles almost ordered automatically before reminding himself what a terrible idea it likely was.

“No,” he said instead, regret welling up. “I fear your fish and chips are… likely too evil for my palate.”

The barkeep shrugged, swiping at the bar with a clean white cloth. “Nothing wrong with the food, mate. California rules and regulations regarding concessions are ironclad.” He leaned forward confidingly. “And the Amusement Park Food Service Union wields a bloody big stick, if you know what I mean.”

Giles wavered, then sighed. “Would it be at all possible for me to inspect the kitchen first? You’ll understand if the price I’m willing to pay for a mess of fish and chips doesn’t include my soul.”

“Be my guest!” the barkeep said genially, gesturing to the back room.

The kitchen was a reassuring level of clean – easily meeting health inspection standards, yet not so pristine as to seem sterile and unearthly. Giles meandered about, careful not to get in the way of the two cooks, who were efficiently cooking all manner of mouth-watering English fare, pies and pasties and roasted meat. Everything did seem to be on the up-and-up; he took the precaution of muttering an incantation or two for verification, but in the end it seemed to be exactly what it was: the kitchen of a traditional English pub.

Unfortunately, when he leaned in for a closer look at the deep-fat fryer, where a basket of chips was merrily bubbling away, it gave a prodigious spatter, sending a splash of oil across his glasses and face. Giles hissed and pulled back, trying to pull his glasses off to assess the damage.

They wouldn’t come off. He patted around the side of his head in horror.

His glasses had somehow fused to his head.

“Sorry ‘bout that, mate,” the barkeep said behind him, his voice suddenly rough with demonic energy. “Food’s not evil, but… everything else is.”

Giles sighed, digging in his pockets for a handkerchief, so he could at least see the demonic face before him, but… he had none. He was doomed to have dirty glasses fused to his face. Possibly forever.

_Bloody hell._

*

By the time Spike had finished with her hand, Buffy was also done – done resisting. They needed to talk, she knew but… they could talk later. Right now, she needed _action_. She scooched over and pulled his head down, fusing her lips to his.

She lost track of how many times the Ferris wheel went around as they kissed, straining against the confines of the safety bar to get as close as possible. Eventually their carriage rocked to a stop at the very top of the wheel, to let someone on or off, and Buffy took advantage of the opportunity to encourage Spike’s hands up under her shirt, which was really fantastic, but… she had expected to only have a moment or two of illicit fondling before the carriage started moving again, and some time later she realized, not only had she gotten a whole lot of that, Spike had gotten a hand up under her skirt and had her halfway to happyland.

Why was the wheel not moving?

She caught at his hands, opening her eyes.

The Ferris wheel had gone dark.

“Oh my god,” Buffy moaned. “Spike, we’re stuck!”

He shrugged. “Thought you liked privacy.”

She shoved his hands away again. “No, we have to… climb down or something.”

Spike sighed in frustration, but put his hands beside her to push the safety bar up. It wouldn’t go. Not even with both of them using their full strength.

He craned his neck to look at the side of their carriage. “Bloody things fused,” he growled. “Looks like it’s been welded.”

Buffy gave another wrench at the bar. “And this metal’s, like, super strong. It’s not even bending.” She lifted horrified eyes to Spike. “We’re really stuck.”

He set his jaw. “You’ll figure out a way out of this. You always do.”

And maybe she did. But not in this story.

THE END

 

Would you like to try again? [Go to Chapter 1!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20978552)

[Read the Author’s Notes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20983016)


	110. Chapter 110

Spike glowered at the sign in front of the animal enclosure the kitten had chosen as its hidey-hole _. Of course_ the kitten had chosen this, out of all the bloody places it could have hidden in.

Buffy stared at the sign for a moment as well, then shrugged. “We can take it.”

Spike stared at her in disbelief. “Really,” he said drily. “Your professional opinion is that we, you and I, can take on a bloody _tiger_.”

“It’s probably asleep,” Buffy said bracingly. “If it were awake, it would be out here looking all stripey and _rarr!_ instead of hiding out in that teensy little tent, right?”

“Probably.” Spike sighed. “I am beginning to think it might be easier to just go back to town and nick another bloody litter from the bloody animal shelter.”

“Nick?” Buffy frowned at him suddenly. “Spike, are these kittens stolen?”

“Not this lot,” Spike answered truthfully, grateful Buffy hadn’t been around for his last payment to questions the provenance of that batch. “Got ‘em from a mate in exchange for some videotapes. Not _those_ kind of videotapes,” he hastened to add, when she made a face. “They were, um…” Bloody hell, he was going to have to say it. “Fame. So, about the tiger…”

With a wry look that said she hadn’t missed his confession – though Spike refused to be humiliated, he watched what he bloody well pleased – Buffy leaped over the high fence, motioning for Spike to follow. They approached the tent cautiously.

When they were finally right outside the tent flap, Buffy set her pretty jaw and gave him that look of hers, the one that said she meant business. “All right. You open the flap, and I’ll grab the kitten.”

“Got a better idea,” Spike shot back. “ _You_ open the flap, and _I’ll_ grab the kitten.”

She glared at him. “I thought we’d been through this. I’m the Slayer. I get first dibs on the action.”

“Bugger that, Slayer. Way I see it, the tiger’s either asleep or awake. If it’s asleep, the only action consists of capturing a bloody Siamese. If it’s _awake_ – which is more and more likely the longer we natter on about it – the action is like to involve huge claws ripping through flesh. Now, which of us is more likely to survive that _action_?”

She stuck out her lower lip mutinously. “Unless it bites off your head.”

“Unless it bites off my head. And really, what are the chances…”

Buffy clapped her hand over his mouth. “Don’t say it!”

He tilted his head to a challenging angle, taking her hand in both of his. “I’m the obvious choice of target. Right?”

She nodded grouchily.

“So. On three. One… Two…”

She yanked open the tent flap and Spike lunged forward into…

A jungle.

He stopped in his tracks, glancing over his shoulder to see Buffy holding the tent flap open, gazing out in wonder. The lights of the carnival were visible behind her, but the tent itself… wasn’t there. Or wasn’t a tent; it was two flaps of canvas hanging from a sturdy wooden frame, canvas and frame both painted with arcane symbols. It was the only sign of civilization; the jungle itself was lush and fragrant and humid, huge leaves and vines and tall, twisted trees covered in moss.

“Don’t come through!” Spike said suddenly, but it was too late; Buffy was already by his side, looking around at the greenery, eyes shining and huge.

He glared down at her. “Do you always go leaping into dimensional portals without bothering to check if there’s a way back?”

“Uh-huh,” she replied absently. “Wow, this is beautiful!”

Spike was about to look down at her and agree, because she was beautiful, but he thought better of the cliché at the last moment and just bent down to kiss her.

“The tiger…” she breathed against his lips.

“…Is not in the vicinity,” Spike murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “No large predator heartbeats in the area. Place like this, easy to tell.”

“Oh,” she said softly, and then she was kissing him back, sweetly, standing right in the middle of the clearing. It was quiet, but an alive quiet, plants rustling and water flowing and the occasional call of an animal – even once the distant snarl of the tiger – and Spike almost felt alive himself, here in the lush fertile jungle, with the very embodiment of life wrapped around him, kissing her soul into him.

The tiger’s snarl sounded again, closer, and Buffy pulled away, face regretful.

“So, what do you think the chances are of finding the kitten in all of this?”

“Not bad,” Spike grinned. “It’s sitting right there. Poor little beastie’s terrified by all this nature.” He took a few steps and scooped up the shivering Siamese kitten from where it was huddled beneath a wide-leaved bush. “Shall we?” He bowed and gestured towards the portal. Which he bloody well hoped went back where it was supposed to.

It did, and they hastened to vault over the fence, looking at each other and laughing sheepishly when they were safe on the other side. Spike collected his basket from where he’d left it and tucked the Siamese kitten securely away.

Buffy was looking at the tiger enclosure. “Gotta be nice for the tiger,” she said. “It doesn’t live in a cage at all. It has a whole jungle to wander around in, and the carnival is, like, its veranda.”

“Yeah, lucky for the tiger,” Spike muttered.

“No, it’s really nice,” Buffy said earnestly, looking up at him. “You hear stories, you know, about how terrible animals in captivity get treated sometimes. That’s why we went all the way up the coast to sell the horses.” She looked down, blushing gorgeously. “I did a whole bunch of research on the internet, y’know? Found a place that has a nice farm for the horses to run around on when they’re not onstage. High marks from all the animal rights organizations.” She frowned pensively. “Except that one, but they’re… kinda fringey.”

Spike didn’t give a good goddamn about the horses’ bloody habitat, but it was bleeding adorable how much Buffy cared. And god knew he’d take any excuse to kiss Buffy again. So he did.

Buffy’s hair still smelled of jungle flowers.

Kissing her still felt like life.

 

[GO TO CHAPTER 49](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20980724)


	111. Chapter 111

Buffy regarded her cream puff with mingled excitement and trepidation. It was huge, puffed high with fluffy cream, and it was hard to even figure out where to start.

Spike swiped a tiny smidgen of cream on his finger, popping it in his mouth. “You gonna be able to eat all of that?” There was more dare than doubt in his voice, and he slipped an arm around her waist in a probably-intended-to-be-subtle move, guiding her away from the crowded concessions area.

“Where are we going?” Buffy laughed.

“Someplace more private,” Spike said casually. “Way you’re looking at that cream, thought the sight of you eating it might be a bit much for the kiddies.”

Buffy could feel herself turning red, but she had to admit, she was definitely in lust with the cream puff.

They found a tiny wrought-iron café table, screened by fake green foliage, and Spike took a seat opposite her, slouching down with a look of anticipation on his face.

“I dunno, Spike,” Buffy said thoughtfully. “Watching me eat this might be too much for _you_.” She took a delicate nibble of the flaky light pastry.

He lifted an eyebrow. “I can handle anything you dish out, love.”

“Oh, really?” Now that had definitely been a dare, and…. Buffy knew this was a turning point, that she was making a decision, right here and now. They were on a date now – she’d agreed – and they’d been kissing – and okay, maybe a bit more than kissing – but now she could take a step back, get their date back on a more casual, getting-to-know each other footing – or she could jump.

 _And why the hell shouldn’t I?_ she thought suddenly. She was young and free and old enough to know what she wanted. And what she wanted right now…

She wanted to eat her cream puff, that’s what she wanted. And she really, really wanted Spike to enjoy the show. So she grinned and licked her lips.

“Your funeral,” she said sweetly.

And she ate.

She knew Spike wanted her – both as a general state of being, and tonight in particular. She had kissed him and touched him and she knew his desire, and she knew that she could make him want her more, that she could drive him insane with lust. What she hadn’t realized was what turning Spike on was going to do to _her_ ; now, as she licked and nibbled at the pastry and cream as sensually as she could, she found herself caught up in her own show. She took a lick of cream, and Spike groaned faintly, as if she had licked him, and then he licked his own lips and she felt like he was licking her, and oh god, she kept nibbling and licking, sucking on the cream and thinking of Spike’s lips and his body, all his lickable parts, and from the look on his face he was thinking the same thing, him licking her and her licking him and they probably didn’t even need the cream puff, Buffy got lost in thinking how he would taste, just Spike, would he be salty or sweet or…?

The cream puff was gone, and Buffy didn’t even hesitate, standing and slipping around the table and sinking down into Spike’s lap, and oh yes, mission accomplished, he was hard as a rock, and if they hadn’t been in public she would have done more than just snuggle into him, because she had damn well jumped already and she might as well enjoy the fall, but she settled for kissing him, which wasn’t really settling at all, it was wonderful.

She promised herself that later they could have more.

_Meow!_

Her head jerked up and she looked around, thinking dizzily that finding all the kittens sooner could also make later _sooner_ , and she was completely in favor of the soonest _sooner_ possible right this moment. Spike seemed to be on board with this plan, because he was scanning their surroundings avidly.

Finally, he nodded his head off to the right. “There.”

Buffy followed his gaze and watched as the Siamese kitten cautiously ventured into a cave along the path of what looked like a long wide gutter, though she couldn’t see very clearly through the leaves. She stood and walked out of their private little alcove, peering at the attraction the cave belonged to. “Klondike Log Jam!” announced a huge sign above the line entrance, and the accompanying illustration indicated it was some sort of water ride.

Spike came up behind her, tucking his arms around her waist. “Ready to get _wet_ , Slayer?” he said in a tone of voice so filthy Buffy felt like she needed a shower. Except she needed Spike to also be in the shower, scrubbing her down.

But all she could do was nod, because… yeah. She _was_ ready to get wet.

 _God,_ was she ready.

*

Spike stepped cautiously into the floating log. The logs were apparently designed for very friendly riders, with a raised bench down the middle and no seat backs except for the rearmost passenger. Spike headed for the back seat, envisioning his cock snugly nestled against Buffy’s pert arse, but Buffy got there first, eyes challenging as she spread her legs over the bench, her skirt draped coyly over what he’d wager was the sweetest quim in this or any dimension.

Spike wondered for a brief, dizzy moment if he could get away with just getting right down to tasting it, but his keen survival instincts noted that there were an awful lot of people watching them, and in fact another couple was heading for their log, expecting to share.

Well, bugger that. Spike flashed a bit of fang up at the attendant. “This one’s full,” he said pointedly, and the attendant gulped in gratifying fear and pulled the lever to set them loose down the channel as he turned and settled in front of Buffy, setting the basket in the very front of the boat and folding his duster atop it.

Buffy poked him in the back. “Spike, did you just…?”

Spike glanced innocently over his shoulder. “Just made a suggestion, love.” She glared at him suspiciously, but didn’t argue.

The path of the ride was screened with plastic greenery and Styrofoam rocks – undoubtedly to give it a dash of real-Klondike-wilderness ambiance – and the logs were spaced so far out along the route they couldn’t see each other, so it was like being in their own little world. Spike sent a quick prayer up to whatever higher power might be on the side of a creature like himself, and slid back a bit. “Not crushing you, am I?”

Buffy was silent for a long moment before sighing. “No, not at all.” Then Spike knew there had to be a higher power up there after all – patron saint of punk, perhaps?  – because her small warm hands crept shyly around his waist and suddenly she was right up against his back, sighing.

Spike let his eyes close, covering her hands with his. “Feeling all right, pet?”

Her cheek rubbed against his shoulder blade. “This is all right, isn’t it?” she said softly. “We’re supposed to be on a date.”

“That we are,” Spike agreed, then took one of her hands in his and slid it under his shirt. “This would be all right, too.”

Buffy hummed noncommittally, but her other hand slipped under the snug cotton as well, stroking his stomach lightly – and she was breathing faster now, he noticed with interest. Perhaps her little tease with that cream-filled torture device had affected her as well.

He slid his hands back to hook behind her knees, urging her thighs up against his. “Wonder how long this ride is,” he said softly. She shrugged in response. But then he knew just how she was feeling, because she wriggled up against him, and those were very definitely her nipples, hard as rocks against his back. He’d known she wasn’t wearing a bra – he’d have needed to be dust on the wind not to notice – but they still felt like a miracle, even through the cotton of his shirt, and he cursed the seating arrangements that kept them out of reach.

Buffy was quivering now, hands fluttering like hummingbird wings over his belly, and then she slid them up until they were splayed over his chest, palms abrading his nipples. He knew he didn’t need to breathe, but he couldn’t help it, gulping in huge lungsful of air just for the friction of her hands, and – oh god, she had obviously tossed subtlety over the side of the boat, because she took his nipples between her fingers and began to roll and pinch them, just hard enough to straddle the line between pleasure and pain, and the word straddling brought to mind how her thighs had looked straddling the bench seat; he imagined them straddling his hips as she ground against his cock, or even better, straddling his face as he found out just how heavenly she tasted, sucking down her sweet cream and the point was straddling, straddling was good and it needed to happen in the near future, and in the meantime Buffy should just keep doing what she was doing.

Their log rounded a corner, bumping against the sides of the channel, and they headed into the first hill of the ride; Spike was shocked when just before they reached the bottom, Buffy jerked his shirt up to his armpits so the water soaked his bare chest. He swore, but then she laughed and squeegeed her hands all down his front, wiping the water off, and enough was enough; Spike caught her hands when they reached the waistband of his trousers and urged them lower, onto his cock.

Buffy laughed again, curving her fingers to trace his length under the denim. “Poor Spikey,” she said solicitously. “Those cold, wet jeans must be awfully uncomfortable.”

Whatever Spike might have said in response turned into a groan as Buffy tucked one warm, wet hand inside the tight fabric, snugly rubbing down his length.

They rounded another curve, and Spike could see the tunnel the kitten had gone into up ahead. Buffy gave him a little squeeze. “Want me to catch the kitten?” she teased.

“Fuck, no,” Spike muttered. “I’ll catch the bloody thing.”

“Well, if you insist,” Buffy sighed, then her other hand was undoing the fastenings of his trousers and then, oh god then his cock was free and both her hands were wrapped around it, exploring his contours. Her thighs rubbed against his as she shifted behind him, and he realized that she was rubbing against his jeans, pleasuring herself against him, and then they were in the tunnel, their mingled gasps echoing lewdly off the walls as he pumped in her hands and she rubbed her body hard against his back. The kitten was there, gazing curiously at them, and then it was gone, leaping out of the tunnel and running off, but Spike didn’t give a bloody buggering fuck where it had gone, not with Buffy all over him. She was making little moans of arousal into his spine, and he took one of her hands in his and tucked it between them, right where she’d been rubbing against his arse, guiding it roughly to her center, and from the strangled gasp that came from her lips next he could tell she’d taken his so-subtle suggestion and was frigging herself while she was pumping him, and god it was hotter than lava, knowing and feeling and hearing what she was doing but not being able to see.

They went down another hill, and when the cold water hit them – the cold chilling his cock wherever Buffy’s warm fingers weren’t – Buffy gave a deep grunt of surprised ecstasy, and Spike’s eyes rolled back in his head at the sound, the knowledge, _that’s Buffy’s voice when she comes,_ and then both her hands were on him again, and the one was wet with more than water, it was wet with _her_ , he could smell it and feel it, and that was it for him, he came so hard in her hands he saw stars, and then she tenderly tucked him away as their log cranked up to the top of what had to be the final hill, the highest one, and then he turned to her and kissed her sweetly as the last huge splash of water washed away the evidence of their sins.

He tugged at his clothing to make sure all was in place as they floated back towards the dock, offering Buffy a hand up and out when he realized her legs were shaking.

When they were on the platform again, their log being turned over to some family of four, Buffy turned to him, and… her eyes. He had never seen that look in them before, not directed at her twat ex, nor at Angel, nor even at Spike himself when she’d been magicked into loving him. He couldn’t even name what he was seeing in them now, except that they were… hers.

And maybe a little bit his.

She opened her mouth like she wanted to say something, but then her eyes flickered to the side, past his shoulder, and he turned to look. The Siamese kitten was out in the open walkway, chasing a bloody butterfly, and as they watched, it ducked into one of the tents.

Buffy caught up his hand and grinned. “I think we have a rogue kitten to catch.”

She followed the kitten and Spike followed her, because despite what had already happened on the boat, he was bloody well sure of one thing.

They weren’t done yet.

 

Which tent did the kitten go into?

Arcade: [GO TO CHAPTER 131](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982782)

Sideshows: [GO TO CHAPTER 11](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20978942)

 


	112. Chapter 112

Spike shook his head. “Bought the treat for you,” he pointed out.

Buffy pouted for a moment, then cast a look up at him through her eyelashes. “What can I say? I like to share.” And then she hooked his ankle, sending him sprawling on the floor.

“Yeah, I can see that,” Spike laughed. “Thanks for sharing your judo skills.”

She looked down at him, taking a meditative lick of her ice cream. “Spike, can you hold the door shut with your feet?”

Spike lifted an eyebrow and stretched his legs out until his boots were up against the door. “Looks like.” He tucked his hands behind his head, looking insolently up at her. “Got any other mundane tasks need seeing to?”

“Maybe,” Buffy shrugged, and then she stepped forward until her feet were on either side of his hips, still licking her ice cream cone. “Take off your shirt.”

 _Bloody hell._ He pulled it over his head, panting with excitement, tucking his hands back behind his head so Buffy wouldn’t see them shaking.

Buffy looked down at him for a long moment, then sank to her knees, until her sweet arse was resting on his thighs, her free hand light on his quivering stomach.

“Can I share my ice cream with you?” she said softly.

“You can do whatever you bloody well want to,” Spike said fervently, and Buffy smiled and took her ice cream cone and painted a long stripe of cold, sticky vanilla right across his chest.

He hissed and arched up, watching her in wonder as she leaned forward and deliberately licked along the trail she had made, little delicate laps of her tongue, until it was all gone, and god, it was perfect, but it was also inexplicable, unbelievable, and he couldn’t help but ask.

“What’s this all about, then?”

Buffy looked down at his stomach, then back up at his face, eyes determined. “I like kissing you,” she said firmly.

“Like kissing you, too,” Spike said. “And?”

“And we’re on a date,” Buffy continued, cheeks pinkening. “And I was thinking of… of more than kissing.”

Spike nodded at that. “As was I. Go on.” He was starting to get the impression that talking about sexual things was not something Buffy had done much.

“And on the carousel, with the ice cream, I was trying…” She trailed off, her face all the way red now, and took another lick of her ice cream before it dripped.

“Trying to get me hot?” There was a big surprise. Spike shifted beneath her, because he was absolutely not above trying to get _her_ hot in return.

“Except it backfired,” she said, eyelids lowered shyly, and then lifted her gaze to him, something warm and honest in them. “It gave me ideas.”

“Do tell,” Spike murmured.

Buffy shook her head, grinning. “No, I don’t think so.” And then she leaned forward again. “I’d rather show you.”

And she did.

She painted his chest with ice cream, dribbles of melt and swaths of pure cold, and she licked every bit of it off, until his chest was sticky and he was shaking and swearing. She sucked on his flat nipples until they were hard and aching, kissed his belly, ran her teeth along his collarbone. And then she sat up primly on his legs, presenting the almost-finished ice cream cone to him.

“Hold this for me?”

He took it from her with quivering hands, watching her like a rabbit watching a hawk, and when she set her hands to his belt, he nearly wept, watching her methodically undo the buckle and unfasten the button and undo the zipper, and when his cock was finally free, she wrapped one hand around it and held out her other for the ice cream cone, and she tipped the melted ice cream out so it ran down his cock, cold and wet, and then her tongue was there, hot and wet, and then she took him into her mouth, sucking the cream off him and he was beyond words, he could only stroke her head and mutter inanities as she sucked and licked and nibbled, and it was all too much and he came with an oath before he even had time to properly savor things; Buffy hummed around him in surprised pleasure, giving his cock a final lick before crawling up Spike’s body, face smug.

He kissed her openmouthed; she still tasted of vanilla, with a hint of himself underneath it all, and Spike closed his eyes and breathed in her scent, holding her as tight as he dared.

*

Spike would have been happy to lie there snuggled with Buffy for hours – except that the bloody calico kitten decided it was done with being shut up and came to sit by Spike’s boots, scratching at the door and meowing piteously. Its yowls were shortly matched by the kitten in the basket, and the cacophony rather destroyed the mood.

“We really should get all three,” Buffy said, voice still smug.

Spike was starting to think he didn’t care if his head _did_ get bitten off, not if the price was a few more minutes curled up with Buffy, but the lady had spoken, and so he fastened his trousers, scooping up the kitten and popping it in to join its mate.

Buffy silently handed Spike his shirt, making a face when it stuck to her hand. “Sorry. Ice cream’s sticky.”

Spike tugged it over her head, grinning at her, because what bloody fool wouldn’t be smiling after _that_ , sticky or not? “Not complaining here.”

Buffy just smiled like the cat who’d eaten the cream. Which Spike supposed she rather was.

They headed off to the gate.

 

[GO TO CHAPTER 66](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981075)


	113. Chapter 113

“Thanks for offering, pet,” Spike purred. “But ‘m not hungry for ice cream.”

Buffy arched against him, resuming consumption of her ice cream cone. “Then what are you hungry for?” she asked leadingly.

Spike cupped her breasts pointedly. “What do you think?”

“Mmmm.” Buffy glanced up at him sidelong. “Well, I wouldn’t want you to starve,” she said lightly, turning so she was draped sideways across his lap, and she arched back over his arm, still licking at her ice cream cone, and he reverently pushed her shirt up to her armpits and set his mouth to her breast.

She tasted like soap and sweat and danger, and he curled his tongue around the sweet berry of her nipple, savoring the sweet moans Buffy was making in the back of her throat. He ran his free hand under the curve of her breast, lifting it to his mouth, and then let it wander her belly and her back and her sweet legs before slowly easing it up the inside of her thigh until he could tease at her panties with his knuckle.

Buffy curled in to kiss the top of his head then, as he sucked on her, and then the ice cream cone came into his peripheral vision.

“Please,” she said in a strangled tone of voice. “Please have a taste.”

Something in her tone of voice made him smile into his breast, and he lifted his head, watching her face as he curled his tongue into the cold ice cream and then bent again, swirling his chilled tongue around her nipple. Buffy gasped loudly before laying back over his arm.

“A… again,” she whispered, and he licked at the ice cream again, bending to her other breast, and this time she laughed shakily, curling her free hand into his hair, and then he eased her back onto the seat, sliding down her body, and she watched him avidly from her elbows as he took another long, showy lick of the ice cream cone in her hand, then bent and tugged her panties down so he could place his cold mouth right on her crotch.

She nearly screamed, stopping it with her hand at the last moment, but Spike wasn’t done yet, not by half; he set his hands to working her panties down her thighs while he licked and nuzzled and sucked at her hot wet quim, and when he had them down to her ankles he caught her thighs and spread them wide and devoured her, using fingers and tongue and teeth to drive her higher and higher until she was clutching at his head and chanting in tongues, and when he thought she was almost there he caught at the wrist of her ice-cream hand, diving up for one final suck of the cold ice cream and then back down to address her hard, throbbing clit, and she arched back and gasped low in her throat, her sweet juices flowing against his tongue, and he savored every drop, licking her clean, and then she dragged him up by his hair and kissed him like he was a bloody hot fudge sundae before snuggling him tight to her bare breast.

Spike wrapped his arms tightly around her waist and relaxed into her.

That, he thought smugly, had been delicious.

“We’re coming in to land,” Buffy said presently. “Better make ourselves decent.”

Spike was still fully clothed, but he gladly helped Buffy reassemble her clothing, until she was looking, if not pristine, at least not naked. While he was thinking about it, he snatched up the black kitten from where it was lounging on the far seat, studiously ignoring their shenanigans. He popped it in the basket with its fellow, ignoring its complaints.

Buffy gave him a quick hug then, just before the attendant came over and unlocked their carriage.

“Two down, one to go!”

 

[GO TO CHAPTER 91](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981876)


	114. Chapter 114

Buffy didn’t even bother looking for the kitten once she had Spike back in the little alcove surrounded by game backs; she just grabbed him by the lapels of his duster again and slammed him – lightly, so as not to knock anything over – up against one of the particle board surfaces.

“What the hell was that, Spike?”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Sorry, was that your first time? The French call it _Le Petit Mort_ , which is bloody apropos when…”

Buffy shook him again, flushing. “I know what _that_ was! And it totally wasn’t my first time!” She wasn’t about to admit that, if one counted all those times in the shower, Spike was responsible for more than fifty percent of her orgasms, or that it was more like seventy-five percent if she were totally truthful about a couple of those times in the past, or that the whole thing on the log ride had made her reconsider her definition of “orgasm” entirely because whatever that had been, it had been in a league of its own, making her suddenly understand just why all those dopes in history had been willing to let empires fall just for sex, because there was no _just_ about it.

But she was losing the thread of her conversation. Spike. Shaking. God, he was sexy.

He was looking at her now with a knowing, smug expression on his face, and she scrambled to knock him off balance again. “You think I’m going to let you get away with that?”

He smirked at her, but there was a hint of uncertainty under it. “Oooh. Look at you, Slayer. All worked up and no one to—“

Buffy shut him up with a hard kiss; he returned it just as hard, hands clutching at her shoulders, and then he pulled back and inhaled like he was going to say something else, so she gave him another shake; he laughed.

“Just shut up, Spike,” Buffy growled, and set her hand on his crotch.

That shut him up, all right; he went as still as a statue, eyes searching her face. She bared her teeth at him, giving him one last little shove against the video game before attacking his belt buckle, and he sank back, making a noise somewhere between a laugh and a whimper as she unfastened his jeans. He was deliciously hard and cool, and Buffy took him in her hand, squeezing.

She met Spike’s eyes again and…. She’d vaguely planned on hitting him with a few more quips – ask him if he had anything else to say or snarl some innuendo-laden threat or just tease him for a bit – but he was looking at her with such naked devotion and disbelief and hope, all tangled up with desire, that she lost all her words, just staring at him, chest heaving.

And then he quirked an eyebrow, and she smiled, feeling like the sun had just come out, right there in the eye of the hurricane.

She kissed him again, sweetly this time, but when she began to stroke his smooth hard cock he growled in the back of his throat and they went from tender to torrential in seconds, a storm of lips and tongues and teeth. Buffy ran her free hand hard over his chest and up to shove at his duster, and he grunted and wriggled out of it, letting it fall to the ground as she nibbled at his throat, and then she pushed up his shirt and took his flat nipple between her teeth. He swore bitterly as she kissed and nibbled all along his ribs, and then down his ridged stomach, and by the time she made it down to her destination there was a constant stream of mingled profanities and endearments coming from his mouth. His voice was sending shivers through Buffy’s body – log ride level shivers – but, _god,_ did he want to get discovered?

She glared up at him, curling both hands around his cock. “Shut _up_ , Spike!” And she took him into her mouth.

Buffy wasn’t really sure what she’d expected, but he tasted spicy and coppery and clean, which was somehow a surprise, and she made an involuntary hum of pleasure as she explored his contours with her tongue, swirling it around the head and sucking gently before kissing slowly down his shaft. He had shut up, but his hands were in her hair, tenderly combing out strands, and his body quivered gratifyingly with each new thing she tried, as expressive as his face. She licked long stripes along him, tracing the veins and ridges, and nibbled at his foreskin and pumped him with her hands, alternating sweet tenderness with passion until he was taut as a bowstring, and then she took him into her mouth, as much as she could manage, curling her hands around what she couldn’t, and she pumped him in and out, punctuating with swirls of her tongue and a hint of teeth – and then more than a hint, when he growled encouragingly – and when she had him at the edge of desperation, his hips frantically jerking in rhythm with her motions, she broke rhythm and sucked hard, and he came in her mouth, sharp and salty, and she laughed.

She tucked him away gently, wiping off her face – she really should have gotten extra napkins from the Twinkie stand – and he helped her up and leaned in for a kiss, his lips soft and reverent, before cradling her head against his chest.

Finally, she looked up at him sternly. “There. That’ll learn ya.”

He just laughed softly, holding her a bit tighter. “Yeah. You sure showed me.”

She shut him up again.

*

The Siamese kitten turned out to be curled up asleep behind another game entirely when they finally made their way out of their little haven – which was lucky, because Buffy was not sure she had enough brain left to start kitten-hunting all over again.

“That’s two!” Spike said with satisfaction, tucking the kitten into his basket. “One to go.”

Oh. Right.

Time to start kitten-hunting all over again.

 

[GO TO CHAPTER 66](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981075)


	115. Chapter 115

Buffy lost sight of the kitten almost immediately, but she didn’t care, because when Spike joined her in the private little corner, he caught her by the waist, pulling her back against him. She laughed.

“Naughty, naughty,” he said darkly into her ear. “Walking about without your knickers on.”

She shrugged elaborately. “You don’t know that.”

“Don’t I?” He wrapped his arms around her snugly. “Got a pair of pants in my pocket telling me I’m right.”

Buffy turned in his arms, slipping her hands up to lock behind his neck. “Maybe it’s all a ruse. Maybe those are decoy panties.”

Spike lifted a sardonic eyebrow. “One way to find out.” And he tucked his hands up under her skirt, taking firm hold of her ass. “Aha. I rest my case.”

“You got me, Sherlock,” she said sweetly. “Now, what are you going to do with me?”

His eyes narrowed, and one of his hands gripped tighter while the other slid around her hip to the front, and oh god he obviously knew just what he was going to do with her, and she was totally on board with his doing just what he was doing, except maybe more.

He walked her back until she was leaning against the back of a game, her feet half-tangled in the cords, his hand stroking surely the whole time. “You have the most delicious arse,” he said, voice as level as if he were complimenting her penmanship.

“Thank you,” Buffy gasped.

“Been wondering if other parts of you are just as delicious.”

“Maybe they are.”

He lifted a challenging eyebrow. “One way to find out.” And he dropped to his knees and took the edge of her skirt in his hands, lifting it up.

“Hold that out of the way, would you, love?”

Buffy nodded and took the skirt in her fingertips, holding it up as if she were about to curtsey, as Spike matter-of-factly hooked one of her legs up over her shoulder. It was all very polite and normal and businesslike.

And then it wasn’t.

Buffy’s ironic detachment fell away like shattered ice at the first touch of Spike’s cool tongue, and from the way he swore, clutching at her ass, his composure had also gone the way of the dodo; he hungrily licked and sucked at her and she hooked her leg around his back, demanding more, and she was so worked up from the slow burn of teasing and the hot passion of his starving mouth that she peaked hard and fast, nearly falling down from the force of her orgasm. Spike laughed brokenly and tugged her down to the ground – which worked for Buffy, since her legs were kinda giving out anyhow – tossing both her legs over his shoulder as he doubled down with his tongue, bringing his hands into play, his fingers pumping into her as he sucked on her clit, and oh god Buffy hoped their corner of the arcade had stayed deserted because she couldn’t stop the noises that were coming out of her mouth, needy whimpers and undignified grunts and a harsh gasp when she came again, and then suddenly Spike had a hand in her hair, he was looking into her eyes, jaw set as he worked her with his hand, and for a moment Buffy thought maybe there was something she should be doing, some sexy face she should be putting on, but then he pressed a swift, hard kiss to her forehead.

“Need to see your face,” he bit out hoarsely. “Need to see what you look like when—“

And she came under his fingers with blinding force, and when she could see again, he was gazing at her with tender satisfaction, eyes soft and wondering.

She realized belatedly that she was still holding up the edges of her skirt.

“There you go, Slayer,” Spike said smugly. “And that’s why you should always remember to wear your knickers.” And he pressed her panties into her hand.

*

It took a bit of untangling, and Buffy’s legs weren’t especially keen on working, but eventually they managed to get standing again, Buffy blushing a bit as she pulled her panties back on, even though she knew it was silly to be embarrassed in front of someone who’d just been crazy friendly with her ladyparts, and just as Buffy was starting to feel like she could appear in public without immediately being unmasked as the Skank of the Century, she heard a plaintive _meow!_ and looked down to see the black kitten winding around her ankles.

Spike bent and scooped it up, tucking it neatly into his basket. “There we go. Two down.”

Buffy felt a little disappointed at the thought. Was their date really two-thirds over?

She kind of didn’t want it to end.

 

[GO TO CHAPTER 91](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981876)


	116. Chapter 116

Buffy accepted the huge puffy mass of cotton candy, twirled into a perfectly symmetrical cloud by the teen concessions worker – and if that wasn’t a sign of evil shenanigans, Buffy didn’t know what was. Still, it just wasn’t a carnival without cotton candy; she plucked off a bit of fluff and popped it in her mouth, the melting sensation and sharp oversweetness sending her back to the times her dad had taken her down to the pier.

But the present was, if she were honest, far more interesting; she strolled over to Spike, who had claimed a picnic table for them after paying for the cotton candy, lounging with his elbows up and scanning their surroundings for kitten sign.

She plucked off a bit of pink fluff and held it out for him; he nipped it showily out of her fingers, face thoughtful as she settled in the curve of his arm.

“See any sign of the kitten?” she asked casually, snuggling in a bit.

Spike dropped his arm to her shoulder, snuggling her in more. “Not a hair. Though I’m thinking that shed behind the Zipper seems a likely spot.”

“For the kitten to hide?”

Spike’s fingers tightened fractionally. “For privacy.”

Buffy rolled her eyes, taking another little bite of fluff. “You do realize that if we get this kitten thing squared away, we then have the rest of the night off. We can do whatever we want, for as long as we want.” She frowned at her cotton candy. Wasn’t there something else she was supposed to do tonight?

Spike gave her a measuring look. “Whatever we want?”

She looked up at him through her lashes, pointedly biting another chunk of fluff off her cloud.

“Right, then!” He clapped her on the shoulder, rolling to his feet. “Let’s find that kitten!”

*

Anya was torn as to which carnival attraction they should try next, but then she saw a sign that made her squeal.

“Well, it’s a good thing you did all that vomiting earlier! Look!”

Xander obediently looked over at the sign that read _PIE EATING CONTEST! FABULOUS PRIZES!_ and groaned, which Anya easily interpreted as an ecstatic ‘yes’; she took him by the hand and dragged him into the contest tent.

Ten minutes later, she watched happily from the edge of the stage as Xander sat in the row of contestants, hands tied behind his back, a cherry pie in front of him. He had dragged his feet when they’d first entered the tent – poor baby must still be feeling queasy – but his eyes had goggled out at the table of prizes, which had as the grand prize a diamond bracelet. The second and third place prizes were nothing to sneeze at either, but that bracelet was just obviously meant for Anya’s slim and graceful wrist, and he had gladly signed all the paperwork for entering the contest and forked over his ten-dollar entry fee.

Anya glanced over at the bracelet now, feeling a bit wistful. She and Xander had talked a bit about other diamonds, specifically the fact that she really, really, _really_ wanted an engagement ring, but he’d hemmed and hawed and stalled and finally just come out and said that he _did_ want to marry Anya, but not until he’d gotten a little more money in the bank and possibly grown old enough to legally drink the champagne toast at his own reception, which made sense to her, though you’d think the stupid laws would be flexible about newlyweds, at least when one of those newlyweds was Anya, whose actual lived years averaged out with Xander’s to more than twenty _times_ the drinking age. But he’d then gone on to point out that being married and having kids would probably mean toning down the sexcapades, and that had made even more sense to Anya, because she was _so_ not ready to hang the handcuffs up forever. So she’d agreed that waiting would be good, and when she thought on it later, she reminded herself that Xander was still really young, that even though they were the same age in body she herself had centuries of experience on him, and so maybe he did need to grow up just a bit before tying the knot.

But that was all water under the bridge now. Anya had revised her five-year plan to a ten-year plan, adjusted her investments accordingly, and she was going all out in enjoying their freewheeling sexy young lovers’ lifestyle, making sure she got as much living in as possible before she had to pack it all away and start selling Mary Kay and going to PTA meetings.

She was really going to miss those handcuffs.

She was jolted out of her musings by the starting bell, and looked up to see Xander burying his face in his pie.

She couldn’t really see what he was doing, because the pie was in the way, but that meant he was doing it right, getting his tongue in and turning his head from side to side to get as much pie as possible without any wasted movement, and Anya shivered, because imagining what his tongue was doing to the pie made her then imagine his tongue doing those very things to her, which she knew from experience was a really, really good thing. That was the nice thing about having a boyfriend who liked to eat; he was a blue-ribbon-gold-medal champ at oral sex.

And possibly a champ at pie tonight – he was the first to lift his head, jerking his chin for more as he chewed, and then he was buried in the next pie and Anya was buried in her fantasies again.

It was a close contest – the guy down at the end was a Sepulva demon, which Anya privately thought wasn’t fair, given the second stomach – but she had faith in her man, and when the final bell rang and the judges investigated each final plate, attendants untying the contestants’ hands, her faith was vindicated. They raised Xander’s arm overhead in victory and he beamed down at her, face covered in cherry goo.

God, she loved him.

*

“Oh, darnit! Not another Pidgey!”

Andrew pouted in frustration as he stared at the screen of his Very Smart Phone. He’d just managed, through wily strategy and a mean curveball, to capture a Great Pokémon of Legend, and he had thought he was on his way to bigger and better things, truly destined to become the Greatest Pokémon Master of All Time. The Very Best, Like No-One Ever Was. How was he supposed to do that if he had to keep wasting his time on frickin’ _Pidgeys_?

 _Ah, well_ , he sighed in resignation, sitting down on a bench so he could do his Pokémon Master duty. _It is not by great deeds alone that wars are won…_ Was that a quote from somewhere? It really should be. He made a note to write it down later for his memoirs, just in case it was an Andrew Wells Original.

“That’s right, little Pidgey,” he crooned, lining up his Poké Ball. “You may just be a little chick in a big future-mall, but together, we can change the world….”

“Whatcha got there?”

Andrew looked up from his Very Smart Phone to see Jonathan looking down at him curiously. “Nothing!” he said hastily, shoving the phone in his pocket. “Just, you know. Nintendo.”

Warren strolled up then, and Andrew gave him a suspicious glare. Future Andrew had warned about Jonathan and Warren, but Andrew had a sneaking suspicion that Warren was the evil mastermind behind the nefarious plans of which he now had foreknowledge. Which made him both kinda hinky and kinda cool.

 _Not as cool as Future Me_ , Andrew reassured himself. Warren didn’t even have a leather duster. He just wore, like, T-shirts and flannels.

“So, you coming over for games this weekend?”

Had Warren’s voice always been that oily? “Maybe,” Andrew hedged. “I might have chores.”

“Well, you can always come by tonight. This carnival kinda blows, we were heading home in a bit. Interested?”

“Maybe,” Andrew mumbled again, but Warren clapped him on the back like he’d just given an enthusiastic _yes_.

“All right! We were going to go grab some chili-bacon-jalapeño dogs, you in?”

“No, uh… jalapeños give me gas.”

Warren laughed, too loudly. “Whoa, yeah, let’s not go there before the big game session then. My parents’ basement doesn’t have any ventilation. How’s about we meet you at the entrance, then? Say twenty minutes?”

Andrew didn’t even have a chance to answer before Warren and Jonathan, the Evil Duo of Future Evilness, strolled off towards the food stands.

“I’m not going,” he muttered to himself, pulling out his Very Smart Phone and staring at it glumly. The Pidgey had long since flown. He hadn’t even gotten to see the amusing little puff of smoke. There weren’t any other Pokémon around to catch, either.

He sat on the bench, all alone.

*

Buffy caught a glimpse of the black kitten just a few minutes later, darting into big striped tent that dominated the midway. The sign outside the tent had a huge cheery picture of a clown with balloons and bubbly letters proclaiming _FUN CLOWN SHOW! THREE TIMES A DAY! AN AMAZING EXPERIENCE THE WHOLE FAMILY WILL ENJOY!_ It listed multiple showtimes, the latest one – Buffy glanced at her watch – two hours previous.

Spike shuddered beside her. “Bloody kitten, picking the scariest tent in the whole bloody fair.”

Buffy looked at him askance. “You’re scared of clowns?”

“Not scared,” Spike backpedaled. “Just hate ‘em. Everybody hates clowns. Even clowns hate clowns.”

She nudged her shoulder into his. “Careful there, Spike. Pretty soon I’ll know all your weaknesses.”

He looked down at her for a long moment, then shrugged. “Might as well.” He rolled his shoulders. “We going in?”

“Well, I can handle clowns, unless they’re played by Tim Curry. And we need that kitten, right?”

She didn’t wait for an answer, slipping through into the tent.

The tent was rectangular, aluminum bleachers set up on three sides around a roped off center that was covered in sawdust and littered with broken balloons and a couple of rubber chickens. (Buffy hoped they were rubber. She didn’t put it past this place to use real dead chickens in their acts.) The fourth side had a brightly-painted wooden mural set up, presumably as a backdrop for the performance. Right in the middle of the mural was an opening the size of a garage door; the black kitten was just disappearing into the shadows of whatever lay beyond.

With a quick glance at Spike, Buffy vaulted over the ropes and followed the kitten.

The opening led to a wooden-panel-lined corridor that in turn led to another tent with a wide square flap entrance; a little trickle of light limned the three edges of the tent flap.

“Careful,” Spike said in a low voice. “There might be clowns.”

Buffy rolled her eyes and slipped inside.

There were no clowns; instead the tent seemed to be the green room, three walls lined with bins and racks of clown-act supplies. In the very middle, with plenty of space around it, was parked a Volkswagon Beetle – not the creepy new model, the old one from the Seventies – that looked like it had been painted by the Electric Mayhem. The windows had been painted or covered with something on the inside so they couldn’t see the interior. A dressing room mirror and makeup counter was along the back wall, the encircling bulbs lighting the tent.

“Well,” she said. “Looks like we found the Evil Clown Supply Tent.”

Spike came up behind her, setting his hands lightly on her hips. “A shame all the clowns seem to have gone home. That leaves just the two of us.”

“And the kitten,” Buffy pointed out.

“Bugger the kitten,” Spike said, kissing her shoulder.

Well, she was on board with that.

She turned around so he could kiss her properly.

*

Willow and Tara stopped partway along the midway to watch a street magician who had set up a table between the arcade and the churros stand.

He was good, making balls and coins disappear and reappear with such alacrity and showmanship that Willow frowned. “Is he using real magic?”

Tara shook her head. “Just sleight of hand. Can’t you feel it?”

Willow smiled sheepishly. “Sorry. I’m not really as sensitive as you are.”

“Here.” Tara wound her fingers in Willow’s more tightly, letting her eyelids flutter closed. “Tune in with me.”

Oh, Willow loved when Tara would do this, open up her soul so the two of them could kind of flow together, attuned to each other and to the world around them; she closed her own eyes and let go.

The world was more beautiful through Tara eyes – Willow only got a pale shadow of it, but the passersby were suddenly glowing with all the colors of the rainbow, and the earth beneath their feet seemed to hum, and she turned her Tara-eyes on the magician, and she could see it now, how his aura was all-over the same, without the tingles and zips that Tara had taught her meant magical energies were at work.

“What’s that grey patch, right at the middle?” she whispered.

Tara looked over at her then. “Hunger. He… he probably hasn’t eaten for a while.”

Willow shook out of the trance, looking at the magician again with her own eyes. Now that she knew to look for it, she could see that his hands were trembling slightly. The battered top hat on the ground in front of his table had only a few dollars in it – probably his own, left there as a suggestion.

With another glance at Tara, Willow dug into her purse. She didn’t have a lot, though, and wouldn’t until financial aid for the fall came in. Tara added her few dollars to the fund, and they tucked them into the hat with a smile.

“That’ll get him something tonight,” Willow said with satisfaction.

“And tomorrow?” Tara’s eyes were worried.

Willow looked at the passersby, who were barely glancing the magician’s direction. “It’s a shame nobody’s watching. He’s really good.”

Tara gripped her hand tightly again. “We could help.”

“Could we? That wouldn’t upset the balance? Or upset him?”

“We won’t do anything to his act. He’s good enough that if people just look, they’ll enjoy. And we won’t _make_ anything happen. We’ll just… ask.”

They stepped off out of the path, between two tents, and Tara took both of Willow’s hands in hers, closing her eyes. “He just needs people to look, right? So we’ll call upon the light.”

Willow nodded and closed her own eyes, feeling the energies surging up through her feet from the earth, through Tara’s hands and back, around and around and around, all connected and natural, flowing like water, and she could feel Tara with her, their hearts synchronizing and their souls embracing, and together they sent out their humble request to the light, and the light answered.

There was a gasp from the crowd, and they peeked around the edge of the tent to see a brilliant lightshow following the magician’s movements. A passing family stopped to look, and then a couple, and then more, until he had a small crowd. The lightshow faded quickly, but they had been right – once the magician had an audience, they liked what they saw, and money started to come to his hat – not a magical rain of coins, like Willow might once have tried to create, but honest money given freely for honest entertainment.

“There,” Tara said with satisfaction. “That was a good thing.”

“You know what else is a good thing?” Willow said slyly, tugging Tara back between the tents. “You.”

Their magic was better without a crowd.

*

Giles stumbled wearily onward. He had found a spigot, a sink, and a water fountain, all of which had refused to yield water when he approached, and had finally lowered himself to wiping his glasses on the tail of his shirt, only to find that the candy floss had hardened like epoxy, resisting all his efforts to wipe or scrape it away, and so he had resigned himself to near-blindness, holding his glasses in his hand as he wandered through the indistinct blobs of the fair, hoping against hope that one of the blobs would turn out to be Buffy.

The fair was most definitely evil, and he felt she should know.

He tripped again, and his glasses flew out of his grasp, landing on the ground in front of them. There was no sound of shattering, though, so he crouched down and felt around until he found them, resting in a pile of something soft.

He lifted his glasses and looked ruefully at their new coating of brown.

“Elephant dung. Perfect.”

*

As the kissing heated up, Buffy started to get frustrated, because really, there was only so much they could do standing up, especially with one hand occupied with her cotton candy, which she really didn’t want to just dump. Finally, she broke away, glaring up at Spike.

“How about we wrap up the vertical and get on with the horizontal?”

His eyes flared, and he scanned the tent. “Not a lot of flat surfaces available, pet. Don’t think that makeup counter’s strong enough to hold the kitten’s weight, much less yours.

Buffy scuffed a toe through the sawdust that covered the floor. “This stuff looks worse than sand.”

“You know, I’m quite strong, and you’re very athletic. We can just stand here, I’ll lift you up and…”

Buffy shut him up with a glare. He sighed.

“Well, I guess there’s only one option then.” He patted the hood of the VW. “What d’ya say, love? Ever had sex in a clown car?”

 

Get in the clown car?

Yes [GO TO CHAPTER 117](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982431)

No [GO TO CHAPTER 69](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981249)


	117. Chapter 117

Buffy grinned up at Spike. “Think I might like to go for a ride,” she said sweetly, and sauntered around to the car door. She opened it, laughing and tugging Spike in the door after her, expecting to tumble onto some greasepaint-streaked upholstery, or maybe the floor of the car if they’d taken out some of the seats.

Instead she tumbled down, down, down, into darkness, and then she was standing on a featureless surface in a vaguely-grey void, Spike by her side.

“Bugger, Slayer, do you always leap into dimensional portals without looking?” Spike rolled his eyes dramatically.

“Um, actually…” Buffy smiled brightly, moving on to a less-awkward subject. “But at least I didn’t drop my cotton candy!”

“Well, that’s bloody brilliant. Now you won’t starve while we forage in the big grey nothing for nuts, berries, and Type-O-negative.”

Buffy set her hands on her hips, glaring defensively. “Hey, you’re the one who wanted to have sex in a clown car!”

“Offered the option, love. You bloody well chose.” Spike was right up in her face now, and Buffy’s stupid hormones were racing even higher now that they were fighting, and she dropped the cotton candy and wound her arms around his neck and kissed him.

Some time later, Spike lifted his head, eyes glittering. “Ever had sex in a pocket dimension?”

Buffy had not.

This was shortly remedied.

*

Some time after that – it might have been hours, Buffy kind of lost track of time – a glowing portal popped open right next to them. Buffy looked at it askance, but then rose to her feet, swiftly reassembling her clothes. “Come on, Spike.”

He fastened his jeans and jerked his duster back on. “You don’t know where that portal goes, love.”

“Yeah, but there’s a better chance of food there than there is here,” she pointed out. The cotton candy was long gone, and the grey void was, well, a void. It didn’t seem to have a craft services table.

So they leaped through the portal, hand in hand, and found themselves… emerging from a car to thunderous applause, along with a dozen motley greasepainted clowns in extravagant costumes. Bright lights shone down from the roof of an immense tent the size of a football field, and cheery calliope music radiated from what Buffy thought might be an actual calliope.

“Bow!” Buffy hissed at Spike, and they bowed and waved and gradually made their way to what looked like the arena entrance.

When they were finally out from under the hot stage lights, in a cool dim hallway, Buffy sighed in relief. “Thank god we made it home!”

“Home?” Spike looked at Buffy, eyebrow lifted. “Did you get a good look at the audience? Or our fellow performers, for that matter?”

“No, I....” Buffy frowned and peered back out at the arena, scanning the bleachers, then studying the other clowns that had come from the tiny car, all painted up and wearing elaborate costumes which made it look like they had lots of arms and antennae and extra appendages that Buffy couldn’t even identify, and…

Oh.

Those weren’t costumes.

“Crap.” Buffy glared up at Spike. “Any ideas?”

He shrugged. “Could try going back in the car. See where we come out next time.”

That sounded like a terrible idea, randomly popping around dimensions via clown car, but it also sounded like the only possible plan. And while Buffy knew there were, like, bazillions of dimensions, surely they didn’t _all_ have clown cars linked to pocket dimensions. Right?

But first…

“Let’s see if they sell any hamburgers here,” Buffy grumbled, dragging Spike out away from the disturbing crowd. “I’m starved.”

THE END

 

Would you like to try again? [Go to Chapter 1!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20978552)

[Read the Author’s Notes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20983016)


	118. Chapter 118

Buffy shivered.

“Something wrong, pet?” Spike set a hand on her shoulder.

“Nothing, just kind of felt some déjà vu.” She turned to Giles. “Got any ideas what to do with him?”

“I believe I could make a few phone calls, when I am once again able to read the numbers on a telephone. There are groups that could ensure he is properly… restrained.” He shrugged. “Failing that, I’m quite willing to give him a good thrashing myself.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Buffy lugged Ethan off to Giles’s convertible.

“Buffy, I suspect the trunk is too small for a man of Ethan’s…” Giles trailed off as Buffy folded Ethan into the tiny trunk and shut it decisively. “Well. I suppose it’s not a very long trip.” He took his glasses off, squinting at them ruefully. “Xander, perhaps you should drive.”

Xander nodded, licking the last bits of cherry pie filling off his fingers.

“Oooh! Shotgun!” Anya’s hand shot up.

Giles glared in her general direction. “I will not squeeze into the back seat of my own vehicle like a bloody sardine.”

Anya’s face fell. “Four people in the back seat isn’t any fun if Xander’s not there. Even if he does take up half the space.”

Buffy sighed. “It won’t be four people. I’ll walk back to town.”

“Buffy, are you sure?” Tara asked with a worried frown. “We don’t mind being a little smooshed.”

“Nah, it’s good.” Buffy smiled, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s no more than I usually walk on patrol. You all go ahead and I’ll catch up. Just save some of the pummeling for me, ‘kay?”

Buffy waved cheerily as the Scoobies piled into the convertible, the basket of kittens settled securely onto Willow’s lap, and drove off down the road.

“You’re walking, are you?” Spike stepped forward into her peripheral vision.

She shrugged casually. “Better me than any of them.” She started on her way.

He fell in beside her. “Huh. You know, I have a car, I can…”

“Spike.” She stopped in her tracks, taking a deep breath.

“Yes, Buffy?” God, his voice was so… when had it started sounding like dessert to her? All melty and delicious and probably-bad-for-you-but-who-cared?

“I need to… can we… can I just say something without you busting in and going all snarky and British and making me want to punch you in the nose?”

“Yeah.” He rolled his eyes at her pointed look. “Well, okay, probably not, but go ahead.”

Buffy heaved another deep breath before taking the plunge. “Tonight was… well, it _was_ , and I don’t think we can go back to the way we were last week. And I really don’t want to. I don’t want to be friends anymore.”  She heard him take in a breath to argue and elbowed him before he could butt in. “Not _just_ friends. I don’t know… I don’t know where this is going, not at all. I feel like there’s a hundred different ways it could turn out, a hundred paths we could find ourselves on – maybe good, maybe bad. But… I’m willing to give it a try, if you are.”

He looked blank. “Give what a try?”

God, was he being deliberately thick? “This. This thing. You and me. Um… dating?”

“Huh.” He sounded baffled, and Buffy couldn’t help but hold her breath, because…this was hard. Harder than kissing, harder than sex, harder than any of what had happened tonight, because now something important was on the line. Finally Spike sighed, and raised his eyebrows, eyes vaguely amused. “Never really dated before. What exactly would this entail, Slayer?”

She let out her held breath in a rush of relief. “Well. We’d, you know, hang out together. Talk. Patrol together. That sort of thing.”

Spike looked thoughtful, turning away to look off into the distance. “If you don’t mind my saying so, that sounds exactly like what we’ve been doing for the past few months. The thing you don’t want.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” She slipped her hand into his duster pocket to wind her fingers with his. “Did I forget to mention the sex?”

He grinned. “I think you may have left that part out, yeah.” He squeezed her hand. “So. Sex.”

Buffy nodded, oozing around him so she was right in front of him, looking up at his face, which was soft and hopeful in the moonlight. “Lots and lots of sex.”

He nodded judiciously. “Lots, eh? That does put things in a different light.”

Oh god, she was shaking. “Would that be a different light where you say yes?”

He lifted his free hand to cup her face, and she realized he was shaking too. “Could be.”

And he bent down to kiss her, and it was sweet and honest, and she just melted, like soft gooey cream, because this… this wasn’t an interlude in some fantasy world. This was real, and it was what she’d wanted all along, she’d just been afraid of getting burned.

Spike lifted his head after a bit. “And the Scoobies?”

Buffy rubbed her cheek against his chest. “They’re not invited to the sex part.”

He gusted a sigh, wrapping his arms around her. “Thank god.”

She shrugged in his embrace. “But they’ll figure it out. Maybe in a week or so when we come up for air.”

Spike’s hands drifted lower, and his voice did too, deep and sensual and drenched in innuendo. “I don’t need to breathe, Buffy.”

She let her hands wander as well. “Bonus.”

It was an unfortunate fact that Buffy _did_ need to breathe, however, so after another round of kissage that had Buffy debating how dangerous it might be to go back and find a vacant tent, she broke free and curled into Spike’s chest, gasping.

He stroked her hair as she heaved in sweet oxygen. “My car’s just up the road,” he said finally.

“So you had mentioned,” Buffy sighed, tossing her head back. “…How big is the back seat?”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Big enough.”

Ah yes. Much better than a tent. “Sold.”

Spike and Buffy turned and ran down the road, hand in hand, leaving the lights and sounds and tastes of the carnival behind them forever.

Or at least until the next adventure.

THE END

Congratulations on helping Buffy and Spike solve the mystery of the Carnivorous Carnival! Would you like to try again? [Go to Chapter 1!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20978552)

[Read the Author’s Notes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20983016)


	119. Chapter 119

Buffy wasn’t even entirely sure what a Pikachu was – she had a vague memory of some cartoon Xander had tried to corral her into watching, but that was it – but somehow she knew this had been the right choice, the best choice, and as the word dissolved in her grasp, she heard a battle cry from behind her.

“ _I choose you, Pikachu!_ ”

She turned in surprise as that weedy kid whose Walkman had been crushed in the altercation with Ethan strode forward, tears rolling down his face.

*

Andrew gazed wrathfully upon the fell creature whose machinations had cost him so dearly. All his Pokémon, _lost_. His Very Smart Phone, _destroyed_. Star Wars Episode Seven, _stolen_. He knew he wasn’t a hero. He knew whatever this thing was, it was probably going to pound him into mincemeat and make him into holiday pies to serve with a hearty _FTAGN!_ at the next Deep Ones festal.

But he had nothing left to lose.

He flung himself at the beast, dashing past Buffy to unleash the fires of hell upon his nemesis – which would probably have worked better if he’d had actual connections with hell, but he did what he could with his own flailing arms – and he could sense the thing coiling to smite him down, when he heard the last noise he’d ever expected to hear.

“ _Pika?_ ”

Andrew turned, eyes streaming with joy, and gazed upon his savior – for there he was, Pikachu himself, crackling with electricity and glaring at the wicked demon, just as if Andrew were Ash and the demon were one of Team Rocket’s nasty Pokémon, maybe Meowth because Andrew had always hated that obnoxious jerk of a fake-cat, and Pikachu was building up a charge to get medieval on someone’s ass. And hey! There was a glowy green ass ready for some medieval-ness right in front of them.

Well, okay, technically the _ass_ wasn’t right in front of them… Andrew shook himself out of the tangent before he got too tangled up in semantics and got back to being Seriously Moved.

“Pikachu! _¡Compadre!_ I knew you would come!” he wept, and Pikachu came forward and rested a comforting paw on his leg before turning its venomous glare upon the glowing green demon.

Andrew stood, defiant and strong, by the side of his best friend, hearing the music swell in his head. _In a world we must defend…_

And he said the best thing he would ever get to say in his life.

“Pikachu! Thundershock!”

“ _Pi-ka-CHUUUUUUUU!_ ” the yellow Pokémon cried, letting loose a volley of lightning bolts that danced merrily about the demon. It screamed in agony, collapsing to the ground, its green skin charred extra-crispy.

Andrew also screamed a little, because one or two of the lightning bolts had gone astray, but when he was able to stop shaking from the jolt, he looked down to see Pikachu standing before him, holding the remains of his Very Smart Phone.

“Pika,” his ally said sagely.

Andrew took a knee, smiling gently. “Thank you, little friend.”

“Chu.”

Andrew took the Very Smart Phone, regarding it sadly. “Alas, I fear your assistance comes too late for my Gift from the Future, as…” He trailed off, looking more closely at the phone. Actually it didn’t look too bad.

He pressed the power button on the side and the phone sprang to life, digital display still perfect, though the glass had a crack or two. He pressed the little icon Future Andrew had placed for Star Wars Episode Seven, holding his breath.

The stirring and distinctive Star Wars theme began to play.

Andrew stopped the playback – after listening just a bit more, because John Wiliams was a frickin’ genius – and bent a grateful glance upon Pikachu.

“You have saved me, my friend,” he gushed. “How can I ever repay you?”

Pikachu shook his head humbly. “Pika.”

And then in a fizzle of pixels, Pikachu faded away.

As Andrew knelt there in the aftermath of his Finest Moment, he sensed someone’s approach, and looked up to see Jonathan, his eyes nearly bugged out with awe.

“Was that really a Pikachu?”

Andrew stood proudly. “Indeed it was, dear Jonathan. For I, you see… I am the World’s First Pokémon Master.” He looked down at his Very Smart Phone, and smiled.

A good movie was always better when shared with a friend. Maybe they could even invite Warren, if he promised not to ever turn evil and try to rule Sunnydale. Andrew would hold out for a pinky-promise, though, to keep his vow to Future Andrew. Nobody would ever break a pinky-promise.

“Jonathan,” he said kindly. “I have something to show you…”

The World’s First Pokémon Master retired from the field of battle, victorious.

*

Buffy had absolutely zero idea what had just happened, but she was not about to argue with a result of “dead demon,” so she just made a mental note to keep an eye on Jonathan and his friend – was that Tucker’s brother? – and turned back to Ethan Rayne, who had stopped trying to look suave and was just furious.

“So,” she said brightly. “Got any more trinkets I need to destroy?”

Ethan laughed nastily. “The Cho’a Demon’s effects aren’t eliminated so easily. They will continue to suck you in, making you loop through the fair over and over until the energies dissipate. Who knows how many times you’ll be forced to face my brilliant creation?”

Buffy shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll beat it every time. And that also means I’ll get to punch you in the jaw over and over. I have a sneaking suspicion that, even though _we’ve_ been forgetting all the time loops, _you_ , as the wizard who cast the spell, will get to remember every single one. Am I right?”

The look in Ethan’s eyes was all the answer she needed. God, she hoped the next time through she went for the groin.

She turned to Giles. “Got any ideas what to do with him?”

“I believe I could make a few phone calls, when I am once again able to read the numbers on a telephone. There are groups that could ensure he is properly… restrained.” He shrugged. “Failing that, I’m quite willing to give him a good thrashing myself.” He muttered something under his breath about knowing the weaknesses of the Cho’a demon very well indeed, if only anyone had ever bothered to describe the bloody thing.

“Sounds like a plan.” Buffy lugged Ethan off to Giles’s convertible.

“Buffy, I suspect the trunk is too small for a man of Ethan’s…” Giles trailed off as Buffy folded Ethan into the tiny trunk and shut it decisively. “Well. I suppose it’s not a very long trip.” He took his glasses off, squinting at them ruefully. “Xander, perhaps you should drive.”

Xander nodded, licking the last bits of cherry pie filling off his fingers.

“Oooh! Shotgun!” Anya’s hand shot up.

Giles glared in her general direction. “I will not squeeze into the back seat of my own vehicle like a bloody sardine.”

Anya’s face fell. “Four people in the back seat isn’t any fun if Xander’s not there. Even if he does take up half the space.”

Buffy sighed. “It won’t be four people. I’ll walk back to town.”

“Buffy, are you sure?” Tara asked with a worried frown. “We don’t mind being a little smooshed.”

“Nah, it’s good.” Buffy smiled, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s no more than I usually walk on patrol. You all go ahead and I’ll catch up. Just save some of the pummeling for me, ‘kay?” Because really, why wait until the next time around to go for the groin?

Buffy waved cheerily as the Scoobies piled into the convertible, the basket of kittens settled securely onto Willow’s lap, and drove off down the road. She looked up at the starry night sky – god, it was beautiful tonight! – then stretched her arms wide and took in deep lungsful of the night air.

“You’re walking, are you?” Spike stepped forward into her peripheral vision.

She shrugged casually. “Better me than any of them.” She started on her way.

He fell in beside her. “So. We’ve been going through the funfair over and over, yeah?”

“Yep.”

“How many times do you think we…?” She couldn’t see his face, walking next to him, but she suspected he was leering wickedly, from the tone of his voice.

Buffy laughed. “Who knows? Maybe this was the only time. Or maybe….” She took a deep breath, let it out. “Maybe it always happened. Maybe it was inevitable.” She suddenly took his hand, winding her fingers in his. “Maybe it would have happened even without the carnival.”

They walked in silence for a while, the sounds of the carnival fading behind them, but when the night was almost silent, the nocturnal sounds almost drowning out the faint hint of music, Spike gave Buffy’s hand a tug and stepped in front of her, looking at her with a thousand expressions at once, hope and terror and elation and confusion all mingled together in that way he had, so the expression was just… Spike.

“That last thing you said,” he growled. “Been trying to suss it out all this time, and I’m still muddled. Mind explaining?”

Buffy looked down at their joined hands. “Yeah. So, tonight was… well, it was a thing. Kind of a big thing, for me.” She looked up at him, suddenly afraid. “It… it was big for you, too, right?”

“Yeah,” Spike said, voice strangled. He cleared his throat, then repeated the word more clearly. “Yeah. It was big.”

She sighed, relieved. “So I was thinking it was sudden, that it came out of nowhere, but then I realized… it really didn’t. This thing, whatever it is, it’s been growing for months, like… I dunno, maybe a vine? All climbing up into us like a trellis. And tonight, it’s like all the flowers burst into bloom at once, and you look at them and think _wow, flowers!_ like they’re something brand new. Except… they were growing into flowers all along, you know?”

“…I know.”

“And I knew it was growing,” Buffy continued. “I could feel it, and I knew what was coming, but I was… I was scared. Because I didn’t know that they were going to be beautiful flowers. I kept thinking, what if they’re, like, skull flowers? Or poisonous? What if they’re all Little Shop of Horrors and eat people? What if they’re like those really smelly flowers, the ones that smell like a decaying corpse – aren’t they called corpse flowers? – and I actually know what that smells like, it’s really gross, and—“

“Buffy,” Spike interrupted. “I think you might be straining the analogy.”

“Am I?”

“Yeah, a bit.” He took up her other hand, gently. “And you’re babbling.”

Buffy huffed in frustration. “Okay. Sorry, I’m a little nervous. Um… where was I?”

“You were scared of the flowers.”

“Right.” She took another deep breath. “So anyhow, the flowers turned out to be beautiful, and now… now I’m not scared anymore.” She looked up at him, squeezing his fingers. “Now I can say it.”

“Buffy, I—“

“Shut up, Spike,” she said gently.

He looked at her sardonically. “That’s what you were waiting to say? You say that a dozen times a—“

Buffy silenced him with a kiss.

Their hands were still intertwined by their sides when she withdrew, and she tucked Spike’s hands behind her waist before sliding her own up his chest and around his neck, because she wanted him to be paying attention for this part.

Her voice was clear and confident. “I love you, Spike.”

He looked at her like she was a mirage, then groaned and wrapped his arms around her.

“Say it again,” he whispered into her hair.

She said it again, and again, but when he begged for a fourth time, she pushed out of his arms, laughing. “I think we’ve repeated enough things tonight, don’t you?”

Spike’s face suddenly hardened. “That Ethan bloke, he said it wasn’t over. That we’d get pulled back in and repeat the bloody funfair more times, until the energies dissipated.”

“Yeah, so?” Buffy took Spike’s hand up again and started walking down the road, reminded that there was still pummeling on the evening’s agenda. Which wasn’t as good as kissing Spike, but still was not to be missed.

He stalked along next to her, tense. “So we’re gonna forget this, yeah? Like we forgot all the other times. And then the last time through, that’s the one that’ll stick.” He ran his free hand through his hair angrily. “What if… what if we don’t end up with this?”

Buffy turned to him, cupping a hand around his cheek. “Spike. Did you miss the part where I said inevitable?” She firmed up her hand, just enough that he knew she was serious. “The evil carnival didn’t make this happen. _We_ made this happen, all summer, and if in the very end it doesn’t happen at the carnival? It’s still going to happen.” And she kissed him until he believed her. Or at least as long as she could before coming up for air, but she was pretty sure from the look in his eyes afterwards that she’d made him a believer.

They started walking again, and soon they came upon Spike’s ancient black car.

Spike dropped Buffy’s hand and jogged a little ahead, opening the shotgun door for her. “Give you a ride back to town?”

She folded her arms and glared at him.

“What?” he said in an injured tone of voice. “I like opening doors for my lady.”

With an eyeroll, Buffy stalked forward until she was right in front of Spike. “That’s not it at all. I just think you opened the _wrong_ door.”

He cocked an eyebrow in disbelief. “You can drive?”

She flushed. “No, I… Whatever, that’s not the right door either.” She leaned against the car suggestively. “Nice big backseat you’ve got here.”

Spike looked at her darkly, slamming the open door and sauntering over to box her against the side of the car. “Thought we’d had enough _repeating things_ for one night.”

Buffy shrugged. “What can I say? Some things can stand to be done over… and over… and over…”

Somewhere in the middle of the ensuing kissage one or the other of them managed to fumble the car door open, and they tumbled onto the back seat.

Spike’s hands were rough and urgent on her body, and he was kissing her like she was air and sunlight and water, like she was life, and maybe she was – life to his death, yin to his yang, chocolate to his peanut butter. He ran his hands down her thighs, glided them up her body and along her arms, stretching them overhead, and all the while he kissed her and kissed her, until her whole world was here in this car, leather and velour beneath her and the ridged roof overhead and his hands and his mouth and his eyes.

His hands encircled her wrists then, and he looked down at her, challenge and terror and desire darkening his pupils. “Do you trust me?” he murmured.

She looked up at him, his glorious intensity, shivers going through her, and nodded.

He grinned then, reaching past her and pulling one of the car’s seatbelts into her line of vision, the metal clip glinting in the moonlight. “Do you?” he asked again, voice hushed.

Buffy licked her suddenly dry lips. “Yes,” she managed, quivering beneath him. “I… I trust you.” And she shifted her wrists in his grasp as he took the seatbelt, pulling it out to its limit and wrapping it around and around her wrists until she was secure.

She tested the bindings, quickly determining that she could slip out of them or rip them free easily, but… god, she didn’t want to. She was already quivering and wet with anticipation, just from being tied up.

She was just going to have to admit it. She, Buffy Anne Summers, was a teensy bit kinky.

Spike sat back, stroking one hand in a long line from her hands all the way down to her knee, regarding her like he was studying the Mona Lisa. “Tell me again,” he said suddenly, eyes searching her face.

She smiled up at him. “I love you, Spike.” She hiked up one leg, running her booted foot up along his arm until her ankle was hooked over his shoulder. “And there’s something else I think you should know.”

He pressed a kiss to the inside of her shin. “What’s that, love?”

“These polka-dot panties aren’t going to rip themselves.”

He groaned and shoved her skirt up to her waist, nostrils flaring as he looked down at her, and then he curled his fingers into the front of her underwear – she shuddered at the feel of his blunt fingernails against her – and then gave a single strong yank.

Her panties had been through a lot already this evening, and so there was just a quick pull at her hips before the seams parted; he shoved the tattered remnants into his duster pocket and set his hands to her thighs, spreading them wide, and Buffy’s breath caught, her chest hitching as he ran one hand all along her, and then he bent to her reverently, licking hard along the same path and then, oh then, she was writhing against her bonds – desperately trying to remember not to pull the belt out of the car – as he licked and sucked and nibbled, like she was caviar and _foie gras_ and… and… and other expensive foods that she didn’t even know the names of, and she didn’t care, because she was the gourmet feast and she was content to be devoured, like she was the Buffy buffet laid out just for Spike, and oh god, while she’d been babbling in her head about food his tongue had been stroking her higher and higher, unrelenting, and she came with a startled gasp, meeting his eyes down the length of her body.

Then he shed his duster and his shirt, looking down at her all the while, fabric tearing in his haste, and then he’d unbuckled his jeans, giving his cock a preparatory stroke as he fit it to her, and she heard her own voice begging him, as if it were far away, _please_ and _now_ and _god_ and then he thrust home, hard and deep, and she hissed out _yes_ , and _yes_ , and _god yes_ , and with each word he thrust again, falling  forward onto her, curling his arms under to grasp her shoulders and pull  her hard into each stroke, his chest brushing against her sensitive breasts with each movement, and she grinned at him, because being tied up didn’t make her helpless; she was powerful and glorious and strong, and she began to squeeze him as he fucked her, clenching tight as he pulled out, relaxed and open when he thrust, and oh, he was breaking now, she’d done it; he lost his rhythm and pounded mindlessly into her, and the sheer wildness sent her tumbling into another orgasm, sharp and sweet as rock candy, and then he was clutching at her, swearing into her shoulder and she could feel his cock pulsing as he emptied himself into her, and as they both quivered with aftershocks he lifted his head and brushed a tender kiss across her lips, and one of them said _I love you_ but Buffy couldn’t tell who, maybe it was both of them, and it didn’t matter whose lips had formed the words anyhow because they both knew.

They knew.

After a bit Buffy wriggled her wrists out of the entangling seatbelt, bringing her hands down to stroke at Spike’s hair, and he sighed and oozed up to kiss her some more.

“So, you going to take me home?” she asked idly, playing with his curls.

“Eventually,” he said lazily, kissing down her throat.

“You _do_ know that Dawn is out of town, right? And so I have the entire house to myself?”

“Yeah?” He continued to kiss her neck.

She fisted her hand in his hair. “Spike. I have a bed. A very comfy, very private bed.”

Realization dawned in his eyes, and he grinned. “Right then.” He busied himself reassembling his clothing, boosting Buffy into the front seat before getting out and sliding behind the wheel the usual way.

She snuggled in close as he started the car and pulled out onto the road. The Ethan-pummeling could wait for another day. She needed to do some research into this “five hours” business. And so they drove off down the road, leaving the lights and sounds and tastes of the carnival behind them forever.

Or at least until the next adventure.

THE END

Congratulations on helping Buffy and Spike solve the mystery of the Carnivorous Carnival! Would you like to try again? [Go to Chapter 1!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20978552)

[Read the Author’s Notes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20983016)


	120. Chapter 120

Buffy glared at the demon defiantly as Spike’s name dissolved in her grasp.

Spike stepped up beside her, an unreadable expression on his face. “You’re choosing me?”

“Well, duh,” Buffy said, baring her teeth. “Who else am I going to invite to help me kick this green goblin’s ass?”

“It’s not a goblin!” Anya piped up from behind her. “Goblins have pointy ears and big noses and smell like elderberry wine!”

Buffy ignored her, looking at Spike instead. “Whaddya say, Spike? You up to some more of the… rough and tumble?”

“Any time!” he said, then in a low voice pitched for her ears only, “And any bloody way you want it.”

“Good,” Buffy grinned up at him. “Because we make one hell of a tag team.” And she took his hand and they lunged into battle.

The demon’s arms started to wave again hypnotically, and Buffy gave Spike’s hand a squeeze, running off to the right while he ran off to the left. He shouted imprecations at the green creature – more of that British stuff that was nigh-incomprehensible yet somehow super hot – until it turned to look at him. As Buffy watched, Spike’s eyes started to glaze over and he stood as if in a trance.

 _Was that what I looked like a minute ago?_ she thought, launching a flying kick at the back of the demon’s head. She connected with a solid _thunk_ and its arms spasmed, and Spike shook himself out of his reverie, launching a powerful uppercut at the creature’s chin as Buffy landed in a crouch off to the side.

“You got an actual plan for this thing?” Spike was grinning like he was having the time of his life, which… well, he probably was.

Buffy was too.

“Hit it a lot?” she laughed, and he leaped over the demon’s head, coming down behind as she waved her arms to get its attention. It started to undulate hypnotically again, and Buffy felt herself sinking, but she roundhoused into the side of its head, which knocked it off balance, and then Spike vaulted a double-footed kick into the thing’s back, sending it stumbling forward into Buffy’s fists.

Then Spike was on the beast’s back, his hands wrapped around its neck, and as it writhed in his grasp, he met her eyes. She nodded sharply, and he gave the head a prodigious twist, breaking the demon’s spine with a solid _crack!_ It fell to the ground and Spike rose to his feet, standing triumphantly on top of the corpse.

Which was _so_ her job, posing for the power shot, being The Slayer and all, but… She shrugged. _What the hell. He’s earned it this time._

And she could always be on top later.

Buffy turned back to Ethan Rayne, who had stopped trying to look suave and was just furious.

“So,” she said brightly. “Got any more trinkets I need to destroy?”

Ethan laughed nastily. “The Cho’a Demon’s effects aren’t eliminated so easily. They will continue to suck you in, making you loop through the fair over and over until the energies dissipate. Who knows how many times you’ll be forced to face my brilliant creation?”

Buffy shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll beat it every time. And that also means I’ll get to punch you in the jaw over and over. I have a sneaking suspicion that, even though _we’ve_ been forgetting all the time loops, _you_ , as the wizard who cast the spell, will get to remember every single one. Am I right?”

The look in Ethan’s eyes was all the answer she needed. God, she hoped the next time through she went for the groin.

She turned to Giles. “Got any ideas what to do with him?”

“I believe I could make a few phone calls, when I am once again able to read the numbers on a telephone. There are groups that could ensure he is properly… restrained.” He shrugged. “Failing that, I’m quite willing to give him a good thrashing myself.” He muttered something under his breath about knowing the weaknesses of the Cho’a demon very well indeed, if only anyone had ever bothered to describe the bloody thing.

“Sounds like a plan.” Buffy lugged Ethan off to Giles’s convertible.

“Buffy, I suspect the trunk is too small for a man of Ethan’s…” Giles trailed off as Buffy folded Ethan into the tiny trunk and shut it decisively. “Well. I suppose it’s not a very long trip.” He took his glasses off, squinting at them ruefully. “Xander, perhaps you should drive.”

Xander nodded, licking the last bits of cherry pie filling off his fingers.

“Oooh! Shotgun!” Anya’s hand shot up.

Giles glared in her general direction. “I will not squeeze into the back seat of my own vehicle like a bloody sardine.”

Anya’s face fell. “Four people in the back seat isn’t any fun if Xander’s not there. Even if he does take up half the space.”

Buffy sighed. “It won’t be four people. I’ll walk back to town.”

“Buffy, are you sure?” Tara asked with a worried frown. “We don’t mind being a little smooshed.”

“Nah, it’s good.” Buffy smiled, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s no more than I usually walk on patrol. You all go ahead and I’ll catch up. Just save some of the pummeling for me, ‘kay?” Because really, why wait until the next time around to go for the groin?

Buffy waved cheerily as the Scoobies piled into the convertible, the basket of kittens settled securely onto Willow’s lap, and drove off down the road.

That weird kid, the one Spike had crashed into earlier in the evening, gathered up his broken device, and approached her warily. “Buffy Summers?”

Now that she had a good look at him, he seemed familiar. “Do I know you?”

“I’m Andrew. From Sunnydale High?” Her confusion must have shown on her face, because he flushed. “Tucker’s brother.”

“Oh.” That… was not a recommendation. She waited patiently for him to say something else. Then, when he remained silent, impatiently.

Finally, he looked away. “Yeah. So… Thanks for beating up that guy. He cracked my Very Smart Phone. That was so not cool”

“Your phone is smart?” Buffy looked at the little palm-sized device, confused.

“But I checked and it still works, so… thanks.”

“You’re welcome?” Maybe he wasn’t all bad. At least he was polite.

Another vaguely-familiar guy came up and clapped him on the shoulder. “So. Wanna go play some video games?” Buffy noticed Jonathan, of all people, hovering on the fringes; he gave her a little wave.

Andrew glanced back at Buffy, then glared at the new guy. “Go away, Warren. You just want people to help you take over Sunnydale, and I’m not in. You can go play with yourself.” And then he walked right past Warren to Jonathan.

“I’ve got something really cool to show you. Let’s go to your place. Your mom lets us sit on the couch.” He glared back at Warren one last time, then departed with a slightly-befuddled Jonathan in tow. Muttering in frustration, Warren headed off in a different direction.

Buffy watched them all go, then stretched her arms wide and took in deep lungsful of the night air.

“You’re walking, are you?” Spike stepped forward into her peripheral vision.

She shrugged casually. “Better me than any of them.” She started on her way.

He fell in beside her. “So. We’ve been going through this funfair over and over, yeah?”

“Yep.”

“How many times do you think we…?” She couldn’t see his face, walking next to him, but she suspected he was leering wickedly, from the tone of his voice.

Buffy laughed. “Who knows? Maybe this was the only time. Or maybe….” She took a deep breath, let it out. “Maybe it always happened. Maybe it was inevitable.” She suddenly took his hand, winding her fingers in his. “Maybe it would have happened even without the carnival.”

They walked in silence for a while, the sounds of the carnival fading behind them, but when the night was almost silent, the nocturnal sounds almost drowning out the faint hint of music, Spike gave Buffy’s hand a tug and stepped in front of her, looking at her with a thousand expressions at once, hope and terror and elation and confusion all mingled together in that way he had, so the expression was just… Spike.

“That last thing you said,” he growled. “Been trying to suss it out all this time, and I’m still muddled. Mind explaining?”

Buffy looked down at their joined hands. “Yeah. So, tonight was… well, it was a thing. Kind of a big thing, for me.” She looked up at him, suddenly afraid. “It… it was big for you, too, right?”

“Yeah,” Spike said, voice strangled. He cleared his throat, then repeated the word more clearly. “Yeah. It was big.”

She sighed, relieved. “So I was thinking it was sudden, that it came out of nowhere, but then I realized… it really didn’t. This thing, whatever it is, it’s been growing for months, like… I dunno, maybe a vine? All climbing up into us like a trellis. And tonight, it’s like all the flowers burst into bloom at once, and you look at them and think _wow, flowers!_ like they’re something brand new. Except… they were growing into flowers all along, you know?”

“…I know.”

“And I knew it was growing,” Buffy continued. “I could feel it, and I knew what was coming, but I was… I was scared. Because I didn’t know that they were going to be beautiful flowers. I kept thinking, what if they’re, like, skull flowers? Or poisonous? What if they’re all Little Shop of Horrors and eat people? What if they’re like those really smelly flowers, the ones that smell like a decaying corpse – aren’t they called corpse flowers? – and I actually know what that smells like, it’s really gross, and—“

“Buffy,” Spike interrupted. “I think you might be straining the analogy.”

“Am I?”

“Yeah, a bit.” He took up her other hand, gently. “And you’re babbling.”

Buffy huffed in frustration. “Okay. Sorry, I’m a little nervous. Um… where was I?”

“You were scared of the flowers.”

“Right.” She took another deep breath. “So anyhow, the flowers turned out to be beautiful, and now… now I’m not scared anymore.” She looked up at him, squeezing his fingers. “Now I can say it.”

“Buffy, I—“

“Shut up, Spike,” she said gently.

He looked at her sardonically. “That’s what you were waiting to say? You say that a dozen times a—“

Buffy silenced him with a kiss.

Their hands were still intertwined by their sides when she withdrew, and she tucked Spike’s hands behind her waist before sliding her own up his chest and around his neck, because she wanted him to be paying attention for this part.

Her voice was clear and confident. “I love you, Spike.”

He looked at her like she was a mirage, then groaned and wrapped his arms around her.

“Say it again,” he whispered into her hair.

She said it again, and again, but when he begged for a fourth time, she pushed out of his arms, laughing. “I think we’ve repeated enough things tonight, don’t you?”

Spike’s face suddenly hardened. “That Ethan bloke, he said it wasn’t over. That we’d get pulled back in and repeat the bloody funfair more times, until the energies dissipated.”

“Yeah, so?” Buffy took Spike’s hand up again and started walking down the road, reminded that there was still pummeling on the evening’s agenda. Which wasn’t as good as kissing Spike, but still was not to be missed.

He stalked along next to her, tense. “So we’re gonna forget this, yeah? Like we forgot all the other times. And then the last time through, that’s the one that’ll stick.” He ran his free hand through his hair angrily. “What if… what if we don’t end up with this?”

Buffy turned to him, cupping a hand around his cheek. “Spike. Did you miss the part where I said inevitable?” She firmed up her hand, just enough that he knew she was serious. “The evil carnival didn’t make this happen. _We_ made this happen, all summer, and if in the very end it doesn’t happen at the carnival? It’s still going to happen.” And she kissed him until he believed her. Or at least as long as she could before coming up for air, but she was pretty sure from the look in his eyes afterwards that she’d made him a believer.

They started walking again, and soon they came upon Spike’s ancient black car.

Spike dropped Buffy’s hand and jogged a little ahead, opening the shotgun door for her. “Give you a ride back to town?”

She folded her arms and glared at him.

“What?” he said in an injured tone of voice. “I like opening doors for my lady.”

With an eyeroll, Buffy ran a hand along the DeSoto’s shiny black fin. “Spike, do you know what it took for me to make that little speech?” He tilted his head like he was going to say something snark-sexy back, and she held up a hand to forestall him. “No, don’t answer that. Just get your patootie over here.”

He got over there, not without an eyeroll of his own.

“Thank you,” Buffy said politely, then took him by the lapels and shoved him against the trunk of the car. He narrowed his eyes at her, a little growl coming from the back of his throat.

“Now,” she began, voice sweet and reasonable. “We just fought a whole slew of baddies and took down an evil carnival. I don’t know about you, but I’m a little… wound up. To be truthful, I feel about ready to pop.” She stroked his chest meditatively. “So here are our options. Option one, we both get in the car and drive home and are all very polite and nervous, and then we try to recapture this feeling at the other end. Or, option two.” She patted the trunk of the DeSoto. “We have it out right here. Which do you choose?”

Spike answered with a hard kiss.

He heaved her up on the trunk of the DeSoto, shoving her legs wide, and oh god, she’d been right, he was as desperate as she was, she could tell by the way his hands clutched at her, the way his chest trembled at her touch. She shoved his duster off onto the ground, and tugged his shirt over his head, and then he went after her shirt and… oops, that ripping sound didn’t bode well, but it was just a shirt, she had better ones, and then he hooked his hand in the front of her polka-dotted underwear, raising his eyebrows in a silent question that she answered with a decisive nod, and he yanked hard and the seams and elastic of her long-suffering panties pulled sharply at her hips and then parted, and she hitched in a gasp at the rush of arousal that the roughness sent spiraling through her.

He stuffed the shreds of her panties in his back pocket and ran his hand all through her wetness, hard and demanding and god, she was right on the edge already, she reached forward and fumbled to unfasten his jeans because she didn’t want to wait, she didn’t want to work her way up through all the gradual stages of seduction, she wanted him inside her, she needed him inside her, she was shaking with need, thrusting her hips against his hand, and oh, his cock was hard and perfect in her hands, she lay back on her elbows and opened to him and he took her by the hips and grinned at her wickedly.

And flipped her over.

The metal of the car was a cool shock to her sensitized nipples, but then he was fitting his cock to her, and she was practically weeping because yeah, this was an even better idea than hers and she needed him, she _needed_ him, and then he gave himself to her, plunging deep into her, sliding deliciously through her slick arousal, and he must have sensed her mood, because he didn’t bother with slow and he didn’t try for romance, he just wrapped an arm around her hips, between her hipbones and the hard metal, and planted his other hand on the hood and fucked her, hard and harder, until she spasmed and screamed out her orgasm.

He pressed a sweet kiss to her spine then, lips trembling, as he pumped in her, and she sighed and enjoyed it, all mellow and loose, but then he straightened up and the arm around her hips pulled back until his fingers were on her clit, pulsing gently in rhythm with his thrusts, and there went the mellow, she was gasping for air again, fingers scrabbling on the cool black steel, and she clenched around him hard, the snug glide of him heightening her own pleasure, and he was swearing now, little bites of curses with each stroke, and finally Buffy bore down as hard as she could, the deep friction sending her tumbling into ecstasy again, and in the midst of her tremors she heard Spike shout, thrusting deep one last time as he came.

They lay there draped across the trunk of the DeSoto for a long moment, but eventually Buffy regained enough muscle strength to wriggle around and sit up, and Spike stood, wrapping his arms around her, his chest cool and smooth against hers.

“There,” she said at last. “ _Now_ you can hold the car door open for me.”

And he laughed and they helped each other get dressed, and then when they were at last reassembled into something vaguely resembling presentability – if one discounted the rips and the wrinkles and the lack of underwear – he strolled over to the passenger side and opened the door for her, and she gave a regal nod and slipped in onto the bench seat, scooting to the middle while he strode around to the driver’s side.

Once the car was started and they were on the road, his arm draped loosely around her shoulders, she sighed. “So. How does a cup of cocoa sound?”

“A cup of _your_ cocoa sounds brilliant,” he said offhandedly.

“I guess that means you’ll have to come in,” she said, shaking her head. “And with the sun coming up, you might just have to stay all day tomorrow.”

He glanced down at her, bemused. “Funfair get you all turned around? Sun doesn’t come up for hours.”

“Trust me,” she smiled. “It’ll be up before I’m through with you.”

Buffy cuddled into Spike as he drove the DeSoto down the road, leaving the lights and sounds and tastes of the carnival behind them forever.

Or at least until the next adventure.

THE END

 

Congratulations on helping Buffy and Spike solve the mystery of the Carnivorous Carnival! Would you like to try again? [Go to Chapter 1!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20978552)

[Read the Author’s Notes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20983016)


	121. Chapter 121

Buffy darted laughing to the left, hearing Spike behind her – but barely; for a man in combat boots he could move silently when he wanted to, and it seemed like he wanted to now, the faint swish of his leather coat the only sound she could detect. Even that was dissipated and confused by the maze of mirrors, so she honestly could not tell where he was.

After a few more twists and turns, Buffy ended up standing alone in the center of an open space, with mirrors around the perimeter at crazy angles to each other, so she saw dozens of Buffies reflected over and over and couldn’t quite tell where she had come in, and had no idea how to get out.

She turned in a slow circle, scanning the corners of the room, but even on alert, a whoosh of leather and a tingle of awareness was the only warning she had before Spike’s hands were on her shoulder, his chest brushing her hair.

“Found you,” he said huskily, fingers stroking down her arms.

Buffy shivered, looking at herself in the mirror. Because it was just herself, all alone, though Spike was touching her.

“This is weird,” she muttered.

She could feel Spike shrugging. “Vampire,” he said shortly. “No reflection.” He dug his hands into her hair, arranging it artfully over her shoulders; she watched in the mirror as it seemed to arrange itself. “Look how beautiful you are,” he whispered.

Buffy looked at her lonely reflections, all of them. “I just see Buffy,” she murmured.

“Ah,” Spike breathed, pressing his lips to the top of her head. “Funny, that’s what I see, too.” His arms slid suddenly around her waist. “The funhouse is closed,” he said.

“So I have been told.”

“Which means… we’re the only ones here.”

Buffy glanced at her echoed reflections. “For some reason I don’t feel alone.”

Spike hummed thoughtfully. “It is rather like having an audience,” he agreed. “Except the audience is all you.”

Buffy leaned back into his hard chest. “So it’s you and me, then. All the me’s.”

Suddenly Spike’s hand were on her hips, pulling her hard against him, and she couldn’t breathe. “Have you ever watched yourself?” he asked in a low voice.

“I look at myself in the mirror every day. Brush my teeth, comb my hair…”

“Not looking at yourself,” Spike said sharply. “ _Watched_ yourself.” He flattened his hands against her belly. “Have you ever watched yourself come?”

Buffy flushed, shocked protestations flying to her lips, but they seemed dishonest somehow, here in front of a jury of herself, and so she just shook her head. “No.”

Spike exhaled roughly into her hair, then his hands were on her breasts over her shirt. Buffy could see his hands if she looked down, but looking at her reflection, all she saw were her breasts being lifted and shaped. “Watch, then,” he said roughly, and then he had the hem of her shirt in his fists and was tugging it over her head.

When the fabric cleared her head, Buffy had a moment to meet her own dreamy eyes in the mirror before his hands were on her, skin on skin this time, rough and urgent. She watched mesmerized as her nipples hardened, pinkening under his ministrations, her breasts shifting and reshaping under his invisible hands.

Spike stepped back for a moment, unzipping her skirt and skimming it off over her hips. Buffy watched it flutter to the floor, her polka-dot panties exposed; she took a second to kick the skirt aside as Spike cupped her butt in his hands then slid his hands around to the front, pulling her back to meet his cock, hard and demanding behind the barrier of his jeans. He slid one hand around, over the top of her panties; she watched in the mirror as the fabric molded to her, shifted and flexed as he rubbed it against her, and the sight was so erotic and her senses so fraught by their journey through the carnival that her orgasm took her by surprise. She met her own wide eyes in the mirror, gasping loudly, and Spike bent down to kiss her cheek.

“God, I love surprising you,” he said fervently, then cupped his hand over her crotch again, rubbing slowly. “Now, watch and see what you look like when you know it’s coming.”

Buffy couldn’t look away from her own face as Spike stroked her and stroked her. At first she felt self-conscious, trying to pout attractively, but he sank his blunt teeth into her shoulder and it startled her out of her affected expression.

“Don’t try to look sexy,” he growled. “Just feel.”

And she did feel, feeling every nuance of his touch, and when he hooked his thumbs in the waistband of her poor beleaguered panties she helped him skin them off her, kicking them away, until she was naked except for her boots, collapsed back into him while his fingers were buried inside her, then rocking against him until she was out of control, and she knew she should be embarrassed by the faces she was making but god, she couldn’t help it, it just all felt so good, so much better than just her in the shower, and all the while Spike was dripping sweet words into her ear, encouragement and compliments and curses and prayers, and best of all her name, spoken like an epiphany, and when she rocked into a second orgasm so sharp it was almost painful, she didn’t recognize her own voice in the cry she gave. It bounced and repeated off the mirrors.

“There,” Spike said with satisfaction. “That was a proper scream.”

Buffy’s hips kept rocking against his hand, milking the tiny aftershocks, as she watched her own face, because Spike had been right. She was beautiful. Glowing eyes and sweaty skin and glorious nakedness… The woman in the mirror looked back at her knowingly, like she was a woman who knew what she wanted, and Buffy closed her own eyes for just a moment, taking a deep breath, because she did know what she wanted.

And she was going to take it.

What does Buffy do?

Keep watching [GO TO CHAPTER 96](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981987)

Turn around [GO TO CHAPTER 15](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20979179)

Kiss Him [GO TO CHAPTER 70](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981276)

Take Charge [GO TO CHAPTER 135](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982839)


	122. Chapter 122

Buffy glanced up briefly at the video screen over the game the kitten had run behind, which had cartoon footage of a man falling into a deep pit playing. _Weird kind of video game_ , she thought briefly, before getting back to serious business. As soon as she had Spike back in the little alcove surrounded by game backs she grabbed him by the lapels of his duster again and slammed him – lightly, so as not to knock anything over – up against one of the particle board surfaces.

“What the hell was that, Spike?”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Sorry, was that your first time? The French call it _Le Petit Mort_ , which is bloody apropos when…”

Buffy shook him again, flushing. “I know what _that_ was! And it totally wasn’t my first time!” She wasn’t about to admit that, if one counted all those times in the shower, Spike was responsible for more than fifty percent of her orgasms, or that it was more like seventy-five percent if she were totally truthful about a couple of those times in the past, or that the whole thing on the log ride had made her reconsider her definition of “orgasm” entirely because whatever that had been, it had been in a league of its own, making her suddenly understand just why all those dopes in history had been willing to let empires fall just for sex, because there was no _just_ about it.

But she was losing the thread of her conversation. Spike. Shaking. God, he was sexy.

He was looking at her now with a knowing, smug expression on his face, and she scrambled to knock him off balance again. “You think I’m going to let you get away with that?”

He smirked at her, but there was a hint of uncertainty under it. “Oooh. Look at you, Slayer. All worked up and no one to—“

Buffy shut him up with a hard kiss; he returned it just as hard, hands clutching at her shoulders, and then he pulled back and inhaled like he was going to say something else, so she gave him another shake; he laughed.

“Just shut up, Spike,” Buffy growled, and fell to her knees, tugging at his belt.

She had just sucked him into her mouth, reveling in his muttered oath of shocked pleasure, when she heard voices. Lots of voices.

Coming towards them.

“This is the best game ever!”

“Are you kidding? It takes two quarters! I always die in the very first scene.”

“Chad made it all the way to the dragon last week…”

“Hey, is there someone back there?”

Buffy squeaked, scrambling back and up to her feet, grabbing the lapels of Spike’s duster and yanking it closed to cover his penis. Which… actually didn’t work so well, she realized, looking down at the blatantly tented leather.

Spike glared furiously out at the gaggle of teens who were peering in at them. “Here for the show, kiddies?”

And then Buffy felt a hand on her shoulder.

She turned to meet Snyder’s accusing, satisfied gaze.

“I’m afraid Public Displays of Affection are against the rules of this family establishment, Miss Summers,” he said with a faint, nasty smile, then sighed. “You know, some pleasures you get to enjoy only once in life. It’s truly a miracle when you get to experience one again in death.” His hand tightened on her shoulder. “ _You’re expelled._ ”

And the lights and sounds of the arcade swirled together in Buffy’s vision, until she suddenly found herself standing at the perimeter of the carnival, Spike by her side.

There was a long silent moment while Buffy’s body and hormones cooled, then Spike suddenly swore.

“Bloody hell, where’s my bloody kittens?”

Buffy took a deep breath. “Don’t worry, we’ll find them. We just need to circle the perimeter, get to the entrance. We can find them again.” She glanced around briefly, noting that they were the only people in the parking lot. “After.” She pressed him up against the wall and fell to her knees, spreading his duster wide again.

Because really. That had been some log ride.

*

When Buffy was finally satisfied, and Spike was even more satisfied, they reassembled his clothing and started looking for the entrance.

But they circled the entire carnival once, and then again to make sure, and there was no denying it.

The entrance was gone.

They had been banned from the carnival. Forever.

THE END

 

Would you like to try again? [Go to Chapter 1!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20978552)

[Read the Author’s Notes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20983016)


	123. Chapter 123

Buffy was shaking as she led Spike into the arcade, the surface bit of her brain scanning the tent’s interior for any sign of the kitten while the rest of her brain was reviewing the whole thing on the log ride, because _damn_ that had been erotic. She was never going to look at a Klondike Bar the same way again, that was for sure. Or Lincoln Logs. Or water, for that matter.

What was also sure was that her body was still humming and feverish, and she was pretty certain the only prescription was _more Spike_. All she needed to do was get him alone. And conveniently, the arcade was almost empty. Lots of alone-time opportunities. They just needed to find… There! She caught a flash of the Siamese kitten’s brown-tipped tail as it vanished behind one of the machines.

She was still holding Spike’s hand, and when she turned to look at him he was watching her, his eyes full of hunger and trepidation, and she stepped in and grabbed the lapels of his duster, jerking him down for a hard, swift kiss, catching his lower lip gently between her teeth as she withdrew. He glared at her like he wanted to kill her, except Buffy was starting to think that that wasn’t his wanting-to-kill face, it was his wanting-to-kiss face, and he’d just been wanting to kiss her ever since he met her.

Which she was beginning to think might be mutual.

She grabbed his hand again and walked backwards towards the machine the kitten had escaped behind, and he followed stompily, fingers nearly crushing hers, and she grinned at him, hoping the kitten had chosen its hidey-hole wisely.

Which is to say, Buffy hoped it would be private.

 

Which video game did the kitten go behind?

Ms. Pac-Man [GO TO CHAPTER 114](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982398)

Dragons Lair [GO TO CHAPTER 122](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982515)


	124. Chapter 124

Buffy stared at the _thing_ in her hand.  _Oh god, what the hell was I thinking?_ It looked almost like a corn dog, the fried batter drizzled with a layer of sugary glaze, but… well, either the thing involved a whole lot of batter, or they had literally just inserted a handle into an entire stick of butter and fried it up. She was almost afraid to find out which.

“Buffy!”

She turned to see the last person she had expected to ever see again in Sunnydale – Riley Finn, larger than life, striding across the midway as if the butter had summoned him.

Now, with Spike’s kisses still fresh on her lips, he was the last person she _wanted_ to see.

But he was smiling at her easily, that affable grin she had found so soothingly normal, and she couldn’t help but smile back, even as Spike growled beside her.

“Riley! What are you doing back here?”

He shrugged. “Heard through channels that there was something going down, thought maybe you might need me.”

Buffy looked at Riley for a long moment, not really sure what to say. She couldn’t look at him without remembering how she’d felt, how she’d cried, how she’d run after him to beg him to stay when she’d _needed him_ , back when everything was falling apart, and yeah, she remembered the love, but she also remembered emptiness, and tears, and most of all how when she’d _needed him_ he’d been running around getting his bite on, and then gone, because no matter how much she’d _needed him_ it hadn’t been enough.

“My mom died,” was what she finally said.

He blinked. “Oh, Buffy, I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah,” Buffy said shortly. “Me too.”

She could feel Spike quivering behind her, and what the hell, she was feeling a little pissy; she tucked her arm into Spike’s and tugged him forward.

“Spike and I are on a _date_ ,” she said firmly.

Riley’s eyes narrowed. “Are you?”

“That we are,” Spike chimed in smugly; Buffy elbowed him before he got too deep into the gloating.

There was so much Buffy could say, but as she looked at Riley, she just felt tired, like she’d walked a thousand miles since that day she’d run after him, and… she didn’t want to go back. Not to who she’d been back then, when she’d been desperate to prove that her love was enough. When she’d _needed him_ so much, and he hadn’t been there, even when he’d been right by her side.

She didn’t know where she was going from here, what she wanted or what she needed, but she knew… she knew she didn’t need Riley. Not anymore.

Riley was still looking at her with that cheerful, puppy-dog smile that she had once thought meant he was actually a pretty nice guy, but she was now starting to suspect was a mask. “Just don’t worry about it, Riley. We’ve got everything under control.” She smiled sweetly. “I don’t need you.”

His face shifted ominously for just a moment before sliding back into a smile. “All right, Buffy. I can see this isn’t a good time. I can come by the house later on and we can catch up on things. Sound good?”

It really didn’t, but if Riley couldn’t make the connection between _being on a date_ and _not wanting to talk to your ex_ , then that was his problem. “Whatever.” She glared at the deep-fried butter in her hand, winding up to toss it into the garbage.

Riley caught her arm. “Aren’t you going to eat that?”

Buffy looked at it again, just to make sure. “Nope. Definitely not.” She shook his hand off pointedly.

“Well don’t waste it. Here, give it to me, I’ll eat it. They use real Iowa butter in these, you know. All the best foods come from Iowa.”

“Knock yourself out,” Buffy sighed drily, handing over the heart-attack-on-a-stick. “Look, it’s sweet and all that you came back, but I have this whole carnival thing under control. Enjoy your trip back to the jungle.” She grabbed Spike by the elbow and dragged him back towards the concession stands.

***

Riley watched her go, frowning. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Buffy hadn’t been all that happy to see him. But he supposed he’d been right about her all along; she had some sick obsession with vampires, or she wouldn’t have sunk to dating Spike. It was a shame he was only here for the night, or he’d take her out for dinner, remind her what a man could be like before it was too late.

Ah, well. Her loss. He’d sure dodged a bullet, getting away from her. He started walking back to the carnival helipad. There was always that girl he’d rescued in the jungle; she seemed to appreciate him well enough.

He took a bite of the deep-fried butter, enjoying the crispy exterior and the soft, rich interior, and in his absorption in the nostalgic Iowa flavor, he missed his step and tripped, tumbling over a low fence and into a weird sunken moat. _Great._

He had just heaved himself up on the shore of the ridiculous waterway when he realized he was surrounded.

By lions.

He reached for the taser on his hip, aiming it at the lioness leading the pride, but it fizzled in his hand, fritzed out by the water.

“Buffy?” he whispered frantically, then risked a shout. “Buffy!”

*

The lions closed in, licking their chops. They had been fed plentifully, of course, but here was something fresh and buttery, with plenty of meat for the whole pride to share. And it looked to be a delicious feast indeed.

After all, all the best foods came from Iowa.

***

Buffy was still hungry, but it was really hard to make up her mind what she wanted to eat when there was so much noise behind her.

“God, what is up with the lions?” she groused, glaring back over her shoulder.

Spike shrugged. “Must be feeding time,” he muttered offhandedly. “Now, am I buying you a sweet, or not?”

“Oh, you’re buying, all right,” Buffy retorted. “For some reason I have a really bad taste in my mouth…”

 

What treat does Buffy want?

Deep-Fried Twinkie: [GO TO CHAPTER 21](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20979527)

Cream Puff: [GO TO CHAPTER 57](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20980865)

Ice Cream: [GO TO CHAPTER 104](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982146)


	125. Chapter 125

The zebra enclosure had a high fence, but Buffy didn’t even pause before vaulting over, landing lightly on the packed dirt. Spike leapt after her, leaving his basket behind. The two or three zebras wandering the area glanced up disinterestedly before returning to grazing on the ample hay.

The tent was small; now that they were right up on it, it didn’t seem big enough to hold more than two zebras, and then only if they were very, very friendly.

Buffy shook out her hands, wiggling her fingers in preparation. “All right. The kitten doesn’t have anywhere to go. You get the tent flap, I’ll get the kitten, and we’ll hit the road.”

“Righty-ho.” Spike pulled open the flap of the tent and saw…

Stars.

Instead of the interior of a tent, the tent flap opened on a cool night scene, tall grasses and scrubby trees and mounded rocks shading a smooth pond that reflected the moon and stars. A breeze redolent of musky animals and green growing things teased at the canvas flap, sending ripples along the surface of the water, and he felt his jaw drop open.

“Bloody hell,” he whispered.

“Oh.” Buffy’s voice was soft and awed, and she started to step forward onto the grassy savanna.

“Wait,” Spike said, but it was too late, she was already out knee-deep in grass, turning in a slow circle.

“Look at all the stars,” she said, eyes shining in the moonlight, and Spike threw caution to the wind and stepped out with her. He glanced behind him and saw the outside of a tent just like the one they had just entered, staked out in a little clearing.

But even as he watched, the tent started to fade like a mirage; he swore and dove for the tent opening. The tent re-solidified when he grabbed hold of the tent-flap, which was a good thing – he peered through the opening and sighed in relief to see the circus paddock still there – but he suspected they didn’t have much time.

“Slayer,” he bit out. “We have a problem. Take my hand.”

“Why?”

“Because this bloody dimensional portal is about as stable as the bloody Balkans. Now get your arse over here!”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “I’m sure you’re exaggerating…” she started, but then her eyes widened in shock, and she lunged for Spike’s extended hand. “Holy crap. You just started to…”

“Yeah.” He pulled Buffy closer.

She frowned and looked out at the savanna. “The kitten…”

“Bugger the kitten,” Spike growled.

“No, but it’s right there…” She turned to him, face determined. “I can get it. Grab my ankle.” And she fell to her hands and knees, her booted feet the only thing on the circus side of the tent flap.

“Bloody hell!” Spike grabbed her ankle with one hand, the other holding fast to the tent, as she crawled out a foot or two, then lunged.

“Pull me back!” she laughed, and he gave a prodigious heave at her ankle, falling backwards, and she landed on top of him in the zebra paddock, hands clasped around the mewling black kitten.

Spike lay there for a long moment, relief coursing through him, staring up at the ordinary Sunnydale stars, not even caring that Buffy’s elbow was digging painfully into his stomach, because he’d lost a good century off his unlife thinking she might be trapped in that bloody zebra-land without him, or god, _god_ , if she’d died right in front of him, when he should have saved her… He curled up one hand and just touched her, light as a feather, feeling the reality of her, listening to her beating heart like the miracle it was.

After a while, Buffy rolled over so she was staring down into his face. “Ready for the next one?”

Fury welled up, comfortingly business-as-usual.

“Are you _completely_ sack of hammers?” he sputtered. “Diving into a bloody dimensional portal without bloody checking to see if it was two-way? Might’ve been trapped there alone with nothing but bloody zebras for company. Hell, bloody portal might’ve chopped you in two, or taken off an arm, or…”

Buffy interrupted him with a kiss. Which Spike wasn’t going to say no to, but he wasn’t going to let her get out of the tongue-lashing she so richly deserved after scaring the devil out of him either, so he rolled her over and kissed her with all the fury and fear and desperation in him, until she was moaning and straining up at him and digging her tiny sharp claws into his stomach…. No wait, that was the kitten, fussing about being caught in the middle of their snogging, but too bloody bad.

Once he was fair certain Buffy had learned her lesson, he buried his face in her shoulder, curling to the side to keep from crushing the kitten, and she curled up her free hand and tangled it in his hair.

“Got that out of your system?” she said breathily.

He just laughed into her shoulder, because telling Buffy not to leap into danger was like telling rain not to fall. Bloody girl had even taken a swan-dive into the Hellmouth once. No bloody way she wasn’t going to do it again.

He would just have to make sure he was there to jump with her.

“Come on,” she said briskly, patting his back. “Let’s go check in with the others.” And he rolled off her and she rolled to her feet, still holding the mightily-grouchy black kitten, and she leapt over the fence.

And of course he followed her.

 

[GO TO CHAPTER 3](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20978696)


	126. Chapter 126

One look at Spike’s face when he saw the Sharky’s stand, which advertised a chili-cheese topped deep-fried blooming onion, and Buffy made her decision. She made sure to roll her eyes a bit, so Spike didn’t think she was giving in, but secretly felt oddly satisfied, getting something that Spike would enjoy too. They settled in at a picnic table to eat.

“So, see our fugitive?” Buffy dug out a piece of onion.

Spike scanned the area, then shrugged. “Not a hair. Little bugger’s gone to ground.”

They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes, but… Buffy couldn’t be a coward forever.

“Spike, about the other night….”

Spike shrugged. “No need to explain, Slayer.”

“There isn’t?”

He made a show of picking out another piece of onion, studiously not looking at her. “Not harboring any expectations here. Know it didn’t mean anything.”

Buffy looked at him for a long moment, then sighed. “That’s not it at all. God, do you think I just kiss anyone who comes along?”

“’Course not.” Spike took another bit of onion, grinning at her as he chomped it. “Just figured you were overcome by my intense animal magnetism, whimsical charm, and dashing good looks.”

That made her laugh, and she scooted a tiny bit closer, just so her knee was touching his, just enough pressure that hopefully he’d know it wasn’t an accident. _Subtlety, thy name is Buffy Summers…_

He shifted just a bit, pressing back, and it was weird because it was such a little thing, but it felt like… like tree roots meeting underground, bound inextricably where nobody could see. They were connected, and aware, and together, but all under the surface.

Above the surface of the table, they kept eating.

Finally, Buffy sighed. “I… I wish I could tell you I know what it meant, Spike. But it meant something. I just… I don’t know what.”

He cast her a sidelong glance, eyes amused. “Well. Do send us a telegram when you suss it all out.”

Buffy shifted again, pulsing her knee against his. “I will.”

“Thanks, ever so,” he breezed, but his leg shifted against hers, and oh god, just that tiny bit of contact was electric, Buffy’s every nerve straining for more, and she looked at Spike’s hands and saw they were shaking, trembling as if in time with the butterflies in her stomach, and as they finished their snack, Spike’s eyes shifted over to meet hers, and there was something in them so shy and intimate that she almost melted into a puddle right then and there.

He wiped the last bits of cheese sauce off his fingers with a napkin, then reached out and took her hand, quickly, looking away as he did it. “So. Kitten.”

“Yeah. Kitten.” Buffy tore her eyes away from Spike’s profile, scanning the area.

“There!” she said in satisfaction, pointing to where the calico kitten’s patchy tail was just disappearing inside the door to the Cliffhanger. Buffy tugged Spike to his feet and followed after it, only to be brought up short at the door when a cane whipped out to block her path.

“Nobody gets on my ride without a ticket, missy!”

The familiar voice sent shivers up Buffy’s spine, and she slowly turned to face its owner, a short, balding man in a red-and-white striped jacket and a flat straw boater hat.

“Principal Snyder?” Buffy could feel her mouth falling open, but, really, what the hell?

Snyder gave her a dismissive once-over, resting his hands before him on the knob of his cane. “Miss Summers. Should have known a delinquent like you would end up here on a school night.”

“But you’re… didn’t the Mayor eat you?” She glanced at Spike, who was watching them like they were an episode of _Passions_. “I _knew_ this carnival was evil!”

Snyder gave her a poisonous glare, then held out his hand. “Tickets, please.”

Buffy blinked. “We don’t have any tickets.”

With a malicious grin, Snyder stepped between her and the open door. “I’m afraid you can’t get on the ride without tickets. There’s a booth over there. Go purchase some, and then once you’ve done that, go stand in line and wait your turn.” He swept her with a scornful glance. “Not that I’m surprised to add line-jumping to your incredibly long list of crimes and infractions.”

Buffy considered pointing out that there wasn’t any line to jump – the ride seemed to be deserted – but she was pretty sure arguing with Snyder was a waste of time that could be better spent on… the kitten! Buffy looked over Snyder’s shoulder at the kitten, sitting smugly in the very center of the round room. Maybe she could…

Snyder’s hand fell on her arm, and it felt… not right. “I wouldn’t if I were you, Summers,” he said in a quiet, satisfied voice. The kind of voice that was a dare. And looking at his faintly glowing eyes, feeling the unnatural strength of his hand…. Well, ghost or zombie or whatever, Buffy was sure she could still kick his ass, but she was the one who’d insisted on not raising a fuss.

And what the hell, it was Spike’s supposedly-legitimately-earned money.

She grabbed Spike’s sleeve. “Come on. You’re buying.”

*

Willow knew this was a serious mission – head-chomping on the line and all – but it was hard to stay serious when you were chasing a black kitten through a happy fun (maybe evil) carnival, holding hands with the woman you loved. She couldn’t keep from laughing, and when she looked over at Tara and saw her eyes shining… well, it wasn’t so long ago that she’d feared she’d lost her sweet lover for good, and every so often she’d think what a miracle it was, that they’d all come through all right after all.

Tara’s laughing face was always a miracle.

They’d had some serious heart-to-hearts after Glory and the Knights of Byzantium had been taken care of, and Willow felt like they’d come out the other side stronger, both in magic and in love. She’d gone to a dark place when she’d lost Tara, dark enough that the memory made her feel kinda sick, but Tara had helped her shine a little light in the corners of her magic, sweep out some of the cobwebs in her soul, and while she could still feel the darkness creeping around in her shadows, she felt… more secure somehow. Like the lightbulb that was Tara wouldn’t ever quite go out again, leaving her alone in the dark.

They stumbled to a gasping halt after a few minutes, giggling.

“Did you see where it went?” Tara gasped, breathless.

“There!” Willow pointed to the Ferris wheel, where the kitten had leapt onto a seat, smugly grooming itself.

Tara squeezed her hand, giving her that sidelong look Willow loved so much, the one full of promise, seductive and shy at the same time. “I think it may be our civic duty to go after it.”

Willow grinned back. “I think you’re right.”

They bought a roll of tickets from a nearby booth and went through the mostly-empty line; by the time they got to the boarding platform, the kitten’s carriage was halfway around.

“We’ll just catch it when we get off,” Willow said to Tara’s questioning shrug. “In the meantime, we can keep an eye on it from here.” She slid onto the seat and patted the space beside her. Tara smiled back, shy and wicked and beautiful, and snuggled in beside her.

The ride attendant settled the safety bar into place, and they were off, the air whooshing in their hair. They went around and around and around, and on the third circuit, the kitten leaped off the ride and took off for parts unknown.

“Well, that went well,” Willow laughed.

Tara shrugged. “Can’t get off now. We’ll just have to endure the torment of riding on the Ferris wheel a little longer.” She nudged Willow with her hip. “And I believe tradition requires that we kiss at the top.”

“Oh, no!” Willow gasped in horror. “Not… not kissing!”

Tara nodded solemnly. “It’s tradition.”

And then neither of them could keep a straight face anymore; they dissolved into giggles, which melted into hugs. Tara burst into a quick chorus of that song from Fiddler on the Roof, singing in a fakey bass voice that set Willow off into more giggles, and then, oh then they _were_ stopped at the top of the Ferris wheel, and then Tara was laughing into Willow’s lips, and then neither of them was laughing anymore, but they were still filled with joy as they kissed and kissed, even after the wheel started moving again.

It felt like flying.

*

Andrew walked up and down the service walkway inside the Tunnel of Love, eyes glued to the Pokémon on his screen. It looked like a flopping goldfish, pretty unimpressive in itself, but Andrew hadn’t read every Pokémon manga and strategy guide and supplemental resource to tatters for nothing. That little floppy fishy was a Magikarp, the Little Pokémon that Could, and once caught, it would be but a trifle to evolve it into a Gyarados, the mightiest of all water Pokémon, and then, ah then… the world would be his.

It took him a little while to catch the wee beastie – long enough that the smacking sounds coming from the various passing lovebirds were starting to annoy him.

“Get a room, guys,” he muttered as he finally managed to pitch his Poké Ball at just the right angle, eagerly watching as the Magikarp was added to his Pokémon Index.

“And how many Magikarp Candy does it take to evolve _you_?” he crooned, checking the stats.

_Holy crap! Four HUNDRED?_

He did some quick math in his head. Three candy for each capture, plus one for each that he sent to the Professor, plus he had to keep at least one _to_ evolve, that meant… One hundred and one. One hundred and one Magikarp. (Which, now that he said it out in his head like that, sounded like a really awesome title for an epic Disney/Pokémon crossover fanfiction, but he kicked his muse in the head and got back to business.)

He had the one.

One hundred to go.

He resumed the hunt.

*

Anya lost track of the Siamese kitten almost immediately, but she really didn’t care. Over a thousand years of existence, she had seen carnivals evolve from spare gatherings of wandering merchants with maybe a lame puppet show, to the glitzy laser-light-show extravaganza that was modern Barnum and Bailey’s, and in all that time, there was one thing she’d never done.

She’d never been to a carnival with a _date_.

“We have to do it all,” she told Xander excitedly. “We have to go on the rides, and you have to hold my hand, and we’ll scream and put our hands in the air, and I’ll pretend to be scared even though I’m really not, just so I can hug you, and we can kiss at the top of the Ferris wheel and sing “You’re the One That I Want” in the Funhouse and you can win me a big stuffed animal and…”

She kept on, listing all the things she wanted to do – over a thousand years she’d built up a good list, though she supposed she would have to go without the bear-baiting at this point – as Xander resignedly paid for a roll of ride tickets, shaking his head.

Then she saw it. The ride she’d been dreaming of.

The Tunnel of Love.

“Oooh!” she squealed, wrapping her arms around her honey. “This one first! This one!” She didn’t give him a chance to protest, dragging him over to where a man was taking tickets.

“No food on the ride,” the attendant said in a bored tone of voice, indicating the last cupcake, still clutched in Xander’s hand. Anya rolled her eyes, unwrapped it, and stuffed it in Xander’s mouth before he could argue.

“ _Now_ can we get on the…” Something about the man’s French accent tickled her memory, and she squinted up at his face. “Pierre?”

He started, looking at her more closely. “Anyanka?”

Xander’s eyes bugged out, muffled noises coming from around the cupcake.

Anya smiled at him reassuringly, being quite fluent by now in Xander-Talking-With-His-Mouth-Full. “Don’t worry, sweetie, he’s not an ex-boyfriend of mine. We just danced a few times, back in Paris. No, wait, Brussels.”

Pierre laughed, giving Anya that intimate look that had always made her shiver. “Dancing? Is that what they call it now, _mon amour_?”

Anya blushed. “Well, a girl can hardly be held responsible for going a little wild after _that_. Such good times.” She gave Pierre a reproving look. “But what happened at Waterloo stays at Waterloo.”

Xander whimpered through the crumbs.

Anya looked Pierre up and down. “You’re looking good.” Up close, you could see the adorable spines that ridged his elbows and shoulders, and he still had the lean hips and powerful thighs that had looked so good in the skintight unmentionables of the Napoleonic era. Xander’s hips weren’t so lean, but it occurred to her that early-nineteenth-century menswear might suit him quite well. Certainly better than it had Prinny. And she had done her part, with the maid outfit and the nurse outfit and the geisha outfit and the mascot suit. (She refused to dress as a cheerleader, because she had Standards, but sometimes Xander needed a private pep squad.)

She wondered if she could convince him to grow sideburns.

Pierre gave Anya a once-over of his own and sniffed a few times, nostrils flaring. “You’re looking… human.”

Anya waved her hand in dismissal. “Long story.”

Pierre’s eyes flicked to Xander. “And who is this?”

Anya clutched Xander’s arm happily. “This is my boyfriend, Xander! Xander, meet Pierre.”

Xander mumbled something through the cupcake. He was slacking; usually he could get through a box of cupcakes much faster. Ah well. He was still her snuggly eating champion.

Pierre looked at them for a long moment, then took the tickets Anya was eagerly holding out, unclipping the chain to let them in.

“Enjoy the ride,” he said, bowing just as he had after their very last dance. So very courtly. She wouldn’t trade her clumsy cuddly Xander for anything, but Pierre had always had lovely manners.

Their boat was just the way Anya had always dreamed, sparkly and froufy, with plenty of red; she settled happily on the waterproof cushion, tugging Xander down beside her.

“There, isn’t this nice?” She snuggled in to his chest. He hugged her tight, mumbling something through his cupcake. “Haven’t you finished that yet? We need to be smooching when we enter the tunnel, for maximum Tunnel of Love effect. I don’t want a mouthful of crumbs.” He mumbled again, but Anya was putting her foot down on the crumbs thing. If she had learned one thing over centuries of vengeance, it was that Standards Mattered.

They rounded a curve in their little boat, and ahead of them the stream diverged into two courses, each with its own tunnel. Their boat butted up against a little stopper, and Anya looked up to see a pair of ropes, one labeled “left” and the other labeled “right.”

“Oh. We have to choose?” She looked up at Xander, who shrugged, swallowing the last bits of cupcake and brushing crumbs off his lips. That was less than helpful, but she appreciated that he was preparing for the very important smooching.

After a moment of wavering, Anya reached up and pulled “right.”

The gate creaked and shifted, sending their boat off on the right-hand course.

As they approached the tunnel – oh, Anya hoped it was a _long_ tunnel! – she tipped her head up to Xander’s, and he bent down and kissed her, the very moment they were enveloped in the darkness of the tunnel, just the way it was supposed to be.

Anya made a quick mental note to buy more Hostess stock next time she was online trading, because _damn_ Xander had been leveling up his lips with all those cupcakes, and she was just starting to hope the tunnel was long enough for him to demonstrate his newfound skills somewhere other than her lips, when she was distracted by an unexpected rushing sound. She shifted her eyes to the side, trying to figure it out without having to stop kissing, and that was when she realized their little boat was accelerating, the course steepening…

And then they hit the rapids.

Anya clutched at Xander happily and he clutched her right back, hands spasming as their boat jerked and bounced and spun through the rough churning water, and oh! It was exhilarating! Not exactly what she’d had in mind, of course, but fun!

The tunnel was indeed as long as Anya had hoped, and so it was some time later when the watercourse finally smoothed out and they drifted peacefully out of the tunnel and around to the platform. She hugged Xander one last time, feeling exuberant as Pierre caught their boat, holding it steady for them to disembark. Xander was panting for some reason, which was a little funny because Anya hadn’t kissed him enough for him to be out of breath, but maybe he was just really turned on by the danger, in which case… maybe they could find a nice private porta-potty or something.

Anya was about to stand when she hesitated. “Could we… could we go again?”

Xander made a weak sound of protest behind her – he probably wanted to head to the Ferris wheel next, the romantic – but Pierre smiled and bowed, a curious light in his eyes.

“Of course, I should require you to wait in line, but… for old time’s sake.”

He pulled the lever that set their boat moving towards the tunnel again.

Anya looked up at Xander, excitement bubbling up inside, but the words died when she saw his face. He had gone greenish-white, especially around his lips, which were pressed tightly together, and he was making vague sounds of distress.

“Oh, baby. Are you seasick?” Xander nodded shakily. Anya stroked hair back from his forehead. “Don’t worry, I’ll choose left this time. I’m sure that’s going to be a nice, smooth, romantic route that won’t upset your tummy one bit.”

Tragically, it was not.

*

One overpriced roll of tickets later, Buffy and Spike were back at the front of the line. Snyder accepted their tickets gingerly, as if they were covered in mud, then opened the door and waved them into the Cliffhanger.

Buffy made a beeline straight for the kitten, snatching it up.

“All right! Now, let’s find the other two…”

She turned to head out the door, only to find it had closed behind them.

Snyder’s voice came over the loudspeaker. “ _All passengers on the Cliffhanger must take their places up against the wall._ ” There was an ominous pause, then he snickered. “ _Or else._ ”

Spike lifted an eyebrow, standing right where he was. “Or else what?” he muttered.

Buffy shivered, thinking of the feeling she’d gotten from Snyder’s hand. “I’m not sure I want to find out.”

Spike stalked over and planted his back sullenly against the round room’s wall. Buffy settled next to him, curling the kitten protectively into her chest while her free hand sought out Spike’s.

The room started to spin, slowly at first, then faster and faster, until the centrifugal force was pressing them tight into the wall. Buffy turned her head to look at Spike, laughing, and he tilted his head down to meet her, and as the floor dropped away their lips drew near, a bare breath from meeting when Buffy felt sharp claws digging into her skin as the kitten yowled.

“Bugger,” Spike bit out, glaring at the kitten. “Can’t a fellow have a moment without a bloody kitten butting in?”

Buffy just laughed again, squeezing his hand, because it was all part of the moment, the kitten and the hand-holding and Spike and the ride and even Snyder, all of it somehow came together into something perfect, and she closed her eyes and lived it until the floor came up to meet them and she realized the ride was finally slowing down.

When the ride had finally come to a full and complete stop, Snyder’s voice came over the intercom again, grudging. “ _Have a nice day._ ”

The door popped open.

Letting go of Spike’s hand, Buffy headed out the door and down the stairs – Snyder was nowhere to be seen now – and popped the still-protesting kitten in the basket Spike had left under the staircase. “One down, three to go!” she said quietly, looking up through her lashes at Spike, stalking down the stairs after her.

She took his hands, leaving the kitten basket under the stairs, and backed away, leading him to a dark corner behind the shed that held the ride machinery.

“What’s this about, then?” he said, eyes on hers as she set her back to the shed wall.

“I want to know,” she said softly. “I want to know what it means.”

He looked at her helplessly, eyes naked. “I don’t know, love. I don’t know what it means, either.”

She smiled. “Then kiss me. Maybe… maybe we can figure it out.”

“All right then,” he said, voice shaking.

And he kissed her.

*

Giles finished making notations in his pocket journal – to be transcribed into his official journal later – and tucked it away, sighing. He considered himself still young at heart – though his body somehow refused to quite accede to his inner conviction – but he truly did not understand the appeal of cheap, heartburn-inducing foods and nauseating rides and unseemly sideshows. Bloody teenagers.

He swept his disdainful glance across the food stands clustered like vultures near the gate, each with its own revolting specialty. Deep-fried pickles. Corn dogs. And – as if he needed any further evidence of the depths to which American “cuisine” had sunk since its solid British roots – deep-fried butter.

Deep. Fried. Butter.

“How did they ever win the war?” he muttered.

Oddly, though, when he scanned the food trucks one more time from sheer boredom, he saw something unexpected. There, just past the deep-fried, bacon-wrapped weinerschnitzel booth, a rustic wooden sign swayed in a slight breeze, advertising the “Green Goose Inn.”

Curious.

He wended his way through the throng of people until he was standing before the improbable building. It was solid and weathered, with the look of a structure that had stood reliably in one place for centuries, and even knowing it was impossible, that it was undoubtedly an evil pub, he couldn’t help but poke his nose inside.

 _Merely assessing the evil,_ he reassured himself as he walked in. _It’s vitally important that the details of this circus phenomenon be recorded for posterity, and – good lord, fish and chips!_

He could feel his mouth watering at the sight of the basket being placed before another patron. Sunnydale had its charms – or at least he told himself it did – but he hadn’t had decent fish and chips since the last time he’d returned to the mother country, and these looked more than decent.

“Help you, sir?”

The barkeep even had a friendly North London accent, beaming from a cheerful round face, and Giles almost ordered automatically before reminding himself what a terrible idea it likely was.

“No,” he said instead, regret welling up. “I fear your fish and chips are… likely too evil for my palate.”

The barkeep shrugged, swiping at the bar with a clean white cloth. “Nothing wrong with the food, mate. California rules and regulations regarding concessions are ironclad.” He leaned forward confidingly. “And the Amusement Park Food Service Union wields a bloody big stick, if you know what I mean.”

Giles wavered, then sighed. “Would it be at all possible for me to inspect the kitchen first? You’ll understand if the price I’m willing to pay for a mess of fish and chips doesn’t include my soul.”

“Be my guest!” the barkeep said genially, gesturing to the back room.

The kitchen was a reassuring level of clean – easily meeting health inspection standards, yet not so pristine as to seem sterile and unearthly. Giles meandered about, careful not to get in the way of the two cooks, who were efficiently cooking all manner of mouth-watering English fare, pies and pasties and roasted meat. Everything did seem to be on the up-and-up; he took the precaution of muttering an incantation or two for verification, but in the end it seemed to be exactly what it was: the kitchen of a traditional English pub.

Unfortunately, when he leaned in for a closer look at the deep-fat fryer, where a basket of chips was merrily bubbling away, it gave a prodigious spatter, sending a splash of oil across his glasses. Giles removed them, looking at the spots ruefully.

“Sorry ‘bout that, mate,” the barkeep said behind him. “Food’s not evil, but I fear the deep-fat fryer may be a trifle mischievous at times.”

Giles turned with an awkward smile. “No harm done. It’s just a little oil.”

“Shall I fry you up something, then, sir?”

With a sigh, Giles ordered, then seated himself at the bar, rummaging in his pocket for his handkerchief to clean his glasses.

Odd. His handkerchief was gone. He could have sworn he’d brought it.

He checked the other pockets of his jacket, then his trousers, before concluding that he must have forgotten it after all, reaching instead for the napkin dispenser on the bar.

It was empty.

He did a quick circuit of the pub, quickly determining that there was not a single napkin to be found in the place. When he returned to the bar, he leaned over to check, but even the white towel the barkeep had been using just a few minutes before had vanished.

A basket of steaming, fragrant fish and chips was set before him. “Sorry, mate. Union doesn’t have much of a say in facilities maintenance. That tends to be on the evil side.” Giles glared at the apologetic barkeep, who shrugged. “But the food’s good.”

After his first bite of the succulent fried fish, Giles could only agree.

The food was _excellent._

*

Buffy had already been breathing hard from anticipation, and when Spike pressed his cool, hard body against her, brushing his lips across hers in the barest breath of a kiss, she closed her eyes and gasped at the sensual shock, the purity of it, _just a kiss_ but so much more.

He kissed her forehead and her nose, her closed eyelids and her cheeks, sipping his way along her jaw and down her throat, and she drank it all in, every bit of it, and when he finally returned to her mouth, she savored it, tangling her tongue with his in lazy sensuality, and god, it was perfect, scintillating, _real_ , the lingering taste of onion and jalapenos, rumbles of pleasure in his throat, his hands clutching helplessly at her shoulders, purity and carnality intertwined and inseparable.

God, she wanted more, she needed _more_ , and her lips begged and his lips gave, passion building until she was helpless, her body straining against his, hands clutching aimlessly, every ounce of her focused on the sweet friction of his lips, the slide of his tongue. She could feel him hard against her, could feel her own body roiling with desire, craving his touch, his hands on her skin and his mouth on her breasts and yes, oh yes, she wanted it _all,_ everything he could give her – but at the same time this, this kissing, it was everything, and she never wanted it to stop.

But it did stop, eventually, Spike stepping away, eyes hooded as he caught up her hands, lacing their fingers together, and then he turned his gaze up to her, and she wanted to cry from the power of what she saw there.

“Do you know?” His voice was as fragile as a moth’s wing.

“Not… not yet.” She swallowed convulsively. “Do you?”

He laughed, looking off to the side. “Maybe.”

And they just stood there, holding hands, until they heard a rustling behind them.

_Meow!_

Buffy craned her neck to peer over Spike’s shoulder.

Spike screwed his eyes shut. “Don’t tell me. The sodding kitten just escaped again.”

Buffy sighed, watching the calico kitten finish wriggling out of the basket and frolic off towards what looked like a set of animal enclosures, cages and barriers with, bizarrely, tents at the back of each area. “You know it.”

“All right then.” Spike gave her one last feather-light kiss in the center of her forehead, like a seal. “Let’s go fetch the bloody thing.”

They rounded the corner of the shed just in time to see the kitten dash into one of the animal tents.

“Ready to take on the zoo?” Spike said, cracking his knuckles.

 

Which tent did the kitten go into?

Zebra: [GO TO CHAPTER 23](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20979608)

Tiger: [GO TO CHAPTER 50](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20980736)


	127. Chapter 127

Buffy ran off in the direction Spike had chosen, enjoying the feel of his hand in hers. How had that worked out, anyhow, that his hand felt just right? Big enough to be comforting, not so big as to make her hands feel like tiny doll hands in the clutches of a gorilla. He had a nice grip too once he latched on, firm and decisive. She wondered if his hands would be just as firm and decisive if he were touching other places, like maybe… _Focus, Buffy! This is not the time!_

They ended up standing in the middle of the midway, the smell of deep-fried deliciousness filling the air.

“Did you see which way it went?” Spike said, voice casual and even.

“Nope,” Buffy replied, just as casually. “It could have gone anywhere.”

It would have all been very businesslike, two allies engaged in pursuit of a common goal, if they weren’t still holding hands – and now that they were standing still, Buffy took the opportunity to lace her fingers with his, which was, like, a hundred percent better. She wasn’t really sure how she’d gotten from avoid-o-girl (time to stop fooling herself) to not wanting to let go, but… there it was. She didn’t want to let go.

Still, she couldn’t help but look longingly at the brightly-lit food stands. Evil or not, there was something about carnival food that was irresistible. It all smelled so good. Something that smelled _good_ couldn’t truly be _evil_ , right? Wasn’t that how it worked?

 “Hunting kittens is hungry work,” Spike said offhandedly. “Buy you a treat, Slayer?”

Buffy narrowed her eyes. “Not if you’re buying it with stolen money,” she said suspiciously.

“Oh, that’s very nice,” Spike muttered, dropping her hand like it was coated in holy water. “How long have I been walking the straight and narrow, and you still don’t trust me?”

“Well, you _are_ technically evil.”

“Evil is as evil does,” Spike retorted. “Name one evil thing I’ve done in the past three months.”

Grumpiness at his letting go of her hand made her voice sharp. “Oh, let’s see. Gambling for kittens?”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Oh, right. Pushing the bloody envelope of evil right there. Didn’t know you were a bloody Methodist. Am I to go vegan as well, then? Live on bleeding tomato juice?”

Buffy was intrigued for a moment. “ _Can_ you live on tomato juice?”

“No, I bloody well can’t!” Spike snapped. “Not unless you’d prefer me as a withered husk of bleeding… undead jerky.” He ran a hand along his stomach at that, and Buffy couldn’t help but think what a waste of perfectly good abs that would be before she shook herself.

“So, the money’s clean?”

Spike sniffed sulkily. “Won it fair and square playing pool.”

Buffy wasn’t certain that was an entirely savory way to make money, but it was better than stealing. “Okay then.”

Spike sighed, rubbing a hand across his face, then looked at her, face determinedly cheerful. “So. Hunting kittens is hungry work. Buy you a treat, Slayer?”

Buffy laughed wryly. “Yeah. That would be… some food would be good.”

And he looked one way and she looked another, but somehow their hands managed to find each other anyhow, tangling together like deep, deep roots. Kind of like they were meant to be.

 

What does Buffy want to eat?

Funnel Cakes [GO TO CHAPTER 52](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20980763)

Belgian Waffles [GO TO CHAPTER 25](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20979653)

Blooming Onion [GO TO CHAPTER 126](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982689)


	128. Chapter 128

Buffy ran off in the direction Spike had chosen, trying not to dwell on the fact that she had found the first possible excuse to touch him, nor the fact that she was all quivery inside now at the feel of his hand in hers, nor least of all the fact that she was even now putting less thought into figuring out where the black kitten had gone than into figuring out where she and Spike could go to kiss.

They ended up standing in the middle of the midway, the smell of deep-fried deliciousness filling the air.

“Did you see which way it went?” Spike said, voice casual and even.

“Nope,” Buffy replied, just as casually. “It could have gone anywhere.”

It would have all been very businesslike, two allies engaged in pursuit of a common goal, if they weren’t still holding hands – and now that they were standing still, Buffy couldn’t resist stroking a little with her thumb, and she was pretty sure he was stroking back, the tiniest bit. She was shaking inside like she was back in middle school, trying not to look at the guy she’d been obsessed with for half of seventh grade.

Still, she couldn’t help but look longingly at the brightly-lit food stands. Evil or not, there was something about carnival food that was irresistible. It all smelled so good. Something that smelled _good_ couldn’t truly be _evil_ , right? Wasn’t that how it worked?

“Hunting kittens is hungry work,” Spike said offhandedly. “Buy you a treat, Slayer?”

Buffy glanced over at him. “With what? Didn’t all your money just run off to catch circus mice?

“Got real money,” Spike sniffed. “Earned it legit, too.”

“Gambling?” How did Spike ever win anything at poker with that face of his? She doubted he could bluff his way out of a wet paper bag.

Spike shrugged. “Playing pool.”

She rolled her eyes. “Ah, yes. Totally legit.”

“What, you’d rather I was robbing convenience stores? Smokes and booze cost money, if I’m gonna stay on the straight and narrow. Got to get it somehow.”

“And since when do you care about the straight and narrow?”

“Don’t care,” he muttered, then cast her a sidelong glance. “But you do.”

Buffy fell silent, but couldn’t keep from squeezing his hand in response.

He sighed. “Look, I know I don’t have a lot going for me in the white hat department. I’m a bad, rude man, riddled with vices, and a century of evil under my belt. But I’m trying.” He glanced at her again, almost shyly. “Evil is as evil does. Way I figure it, that works the other way around as well.”

Buffy couldn’t look away. “Why?”

“Why try to be good?” Spike’s hand tightened and he looked her full in the face. “Because I can’t be yours if I’m evil.” Buffy started to pull away then, and he hurried on, voice low. “Not saying I expect you to be mine, slayer. Know my place. Just, if you’re giving someone a gift, got to do it right, yeah? Make it a gift worth giving.” And then he let go of her hand, looking away as he dug in the pockets of his duster, pulling out a roll of bills. “Now. Speaking of gifts, I believe I was buying you a nummy treat.”

Buffy took a deep breath and let it out. “Indeed you were.”

And then maybe after the treat, he would hold her hand again. 

 

What does Buffy want to eat?

Funnel Cakes: [GO TO CHAPTER 109](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982209)

Blooming Onion: [GO TO CHAPTER 53](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20980796)

Belgian Waffles: [GO TO CHAPTER 8](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20978873)


	129. Chapter 129

One look at Spike’s face when he saw the Sharky’s stand, which advertised a chili-cheese topped deep-fried blooming onion, and Buffy made her decision. She made sure to roll her eyes a bit, so Spike didn’t think she was giving in, but secretly felt oddly satisfied, getting something that Spike would enjoy too. They were about to settle at a picnic table to eat when Spike’s head jerked around.

“There it is!”

And sure enough, the Siamese kitten was playing around the base of the Sharky’s stand. Spike rolled to his feet, circling around until he could pounce, catching the kitten by the scruff of the neck.

“Well, hello, Mr. Spike.”

*

Spike stiffened at the sound of the oily voice, straightening up slowly.

“Let me guess,” he muttered sardonically as he turned. “Sharky?”

His loan shark stood before him, tailored suit crisp, flanked by a pair of vampire heavies. Spike sensed more room-temperature bodies closing in behind him, cutting off his avenue of escape. _Bugger_.

“What can I say,” Sharky breezed, baring his double rows of razor-sharp teeth. “My mother’s cooking, it’s to die for.”

Spike nodded genially, then scarpered.                          

Or at least he attempted to. He didn’t even make it two steps before some flunkies caught him, twisting his arms behind his back. One of the hefty dimwits – Spike hadn’t met this one but he knew the type Sharky preferred – presented the Siamese kitten as if it were the Crown Jewels. Sharky nodded, gesturing for the kitten to be taken away.

“One kitten.” Beady black eyes bored into Spike’s. “And where are the other two?”

“I’ll have them for you,” Spike bit out. “Tonight.”

The loan shark clucked his tongue. “You know my policy, Mr. Spike. No extensions.” He took a menacing step closer. “No exceptions.”

One of the vampires holding Spike’s arms crumbled into dust.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” came Buffy’s voice from behind the cloud of ash. “Am I interrupting something?”

The dust cleared, and there she was, a stake in each hand, like an avenging angel. She blinked at the sight of Sharky.

“Wow. Are they filming a new B-movie? Jaws meets Goodfellas? ‘Cause I gotta tell ya, I think you might have jumped the shark.”

Spike struggled against his remaining captors, watching helplessly as Buffy faced his deadly business associate.

Sharky seemed amused. “And you are?”

“Oh, you don’t know?” Buffy casually staked the vampire flunkie who’d been trying to flank her. “I’m Buffy, the girl whose date you just ruined.”

Spike stopped struggling, watching in awe as she took out another beefy vamp bodyguard. “A date? We’re on a date?”

“Yes, Spike,” she bit out before cartwheeling a kick into another bodyguard. “I said _date_. Now stop slacking off!”

Spike managed to get an arm free, clocking one of the guys behind him with an elbow to the nose, and then it was on, a good old-fashioned brawl, fists and fangs; after a bit he realized Buffy was at his back, fighting in tandem with him, and that settled it: this was the best date ever.

Eventually, the flunkies stopped coming, and he and Buffy stood victorious, panting and bruised in the middle of wafting clouds of dust and a couple of demon corpses; somehow in the midst of the hubbub, the Sharky’s stand had disappeared, along with Sharky himself.

However, someone else had appeared, a short, balding man in a striped jacket and flat straw boater. He glared at them, his hands resting officiously on a round-headed cane.

“Principal Snyder?” Buffy gasped.

He smiled maliciously. “I’m afraid fisticuffs are against the rules and regulations of this carnival. You two hooligans are banned for life.” He took a deep loving-the-smell-of-napalm breath. “Miss Summers, you’re _expelled._ ”

Spike barely managed to snatch up their carton of blooming onion before the world swirled and dipped and danced, and they found themselves standing in the meager parking lot outside the fair.

Spike looked at Buffy, all heated and mussed from battle, and she was by god the most beautiful woman in the world, and bugger all his insecurities and fears; she had said they were on a _date_. He hooked an arm about her waist and pulled her over for a good thorough snog.

After a bit he let her go – she was all flustered and adorable – and they ate the bleeding onion, even though it was cold – it was _brilliant_ , Sharky hadn’t been blowing smoke about his mum’s cooking – and then Spike brushed off his greasy hands and gave Buffy a hand up from where they’d been sitting on the dirt.

She sighed. “Guess we should try to get to the bottom of what’s going on with this creepy evil carnival.”

“Suppose so.” Snogging for the rest of the evening sounded like an even better idea, but he was the one who’d fallen in love with a woman with a calling, he couldn’t rightly complain when it _came_ calling.

But they went around the circus three times, and never managed to find an entrance. What’s-his-rat-face hadn’t been kidding about being banned for life.

Buffy sighed. “Guess we’ll never get to the bottom of what’s going on with this creepy evil carnival.”

“Suppose not.”

They looked at each other for a long moment.

Finally, Buffy shrugged, casually. “We could kiss some more.”

Spike shrugged back, even more casually. “All right then.”

They did.

 

THE END

 

Would you like to try again? [Go to Chapter 1!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20978552)

[Read the Author’s Notes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20983016)


	130. Chapter 130

Buffy accepted the deep-fried Twinkie from the visored teen cashier with a sigh of anticipation. She tried to eat relatively nutritiously most of the time, but given that she was a college student and her fellows basically lived on beer and pizza, that mostly meant she ate the occasional salad and went for frozen yogurt instead of over-processed pastries when dessert rolled around. The end result of this was that she was always vaguely hungry, and had a constant craving for creamy Hostess filling.

But tonight, she was at the carnival, which was a special occasion despite the evil, and she was on a date, which made it even more special even though she was dating someone usually classified as evil, and furthermore Spike was buying, which as everyone knew immediately negated the caloric content of the food, and so screw it. She was going to indulge.

And actually, that sounded like a good plan for the evening. Indulging. Indulging in carnival food and indulging in some mayhem and most of all, indulging all those delectable fantasies she hadn’t been able to wipe from her brain.

Spike nudge at her arm “There it goes,” he said, jerking his chin in the direction the black kitten was running.

They followed it to a huge ride that loomed over them like an immense spider.

Buffy frowned up at it. “Isn’t this a bit big for a traveling carnival?”

But Spike was rubbing his hands in anticipation. “Brilliant! It’s the Sky Whirl! Always wanted to ride this one.”

The ride had three huge arms, each of which supported a dozen carriages, solid at the bottom with a cage window circling the top half. Two arms were up in the air, circling slowly high above the carnival, while the carriages of the third rested on the ground for boarding. Spike took Buffy by the hand and led her towards the attendant, peeling off tickets from his diminishing roll to pay for their ride.

Buffy couldn’t help but roll her eyes as he tugged her towards the boarding area. “Aren’t we supposed to be catching a kitten?”

Spike grinned, breaking into a lope. “That we are, love. And here it is.”

He handed her into one of the cages, and there the black kitten sat, gazing at them in surprise. Spike pulled the carriage door shut behind him, latching it securely. “And now it can’t get away.” The attendant came by their carriage, checking the latch and moving on.

Buffy settled onto the round bench that ringed the carriage, sighing. “And neither can we.” They lifted off the ground then, their wheel starting to rotate slowly as the arm lifted up into the air.

Spike settled next to Buffy, putting his arm around her. The kitten was playing with some bit of fluff on the floor. “Thought I’d missed my chance for this ride,” he said, beaming down at her. “One in Santa Clara closed before Dru and I made it out this way, and other one off in Illinois closed down last year.” He squeezed her shoulder affectionately. “Thought they’d been scrapped, but it seems they just went on the road.”

“Gosh, I’m so happy for you.”

Spike huffed out a little sigh of frustration. “Bloody hell, Slayer, don’t you ever go to the cinema? Wonderworld? Bloody Beverly Hills Cop III?”

“Oh yeah, that was a movie.” She smiled at him indulgently. “I’m sure it was better than _Cats_ , and you wanted to see it again and again.”

Spike rolled his eyes right back. “Right then, Slayer. Eat your Twinkie.”

“I think I shall,” she said primly, looking out at the night sky, then craning her neck to peer down at the lights of the carnival. Which suddenly seemed awfully far away. “Spike? How high do you think we are?”

“Ride goes up a few hundred feet. Why do you – Bloody hell!”

They were a lot more than a few hundred feet in the air, and still rising. Buffy scooted over to look out at the main support of the ride – which was clearly no longer attached to the ground.

“Bugger,” Spike muttered. “Guess the Sky Whirl really did go on the road.”

Eventually, the Sky Whirl touched down in another evil carnival – fortunately before the sun rose – and they were allowed to disembark, released from their cage by the very same attendant.

“Where are we?” Buffy asked the attendant.

He smiled back cheerily. “Tucson!”

Spike’s eyes filled with clear horror and he cried out his despair to the night sky. “NOOOOOOOOO!”

THE END

 

Would you like to try again? [Go to Chapter 1!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20978552)

[Read the Author’s Notes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20983016)


	131. Chapter 131

Buffy was shaking as she led Spike into the arcade, the surface bit of her brain scanning the tent’s interior for any sign of the kitten while the rest of her brain was reviewing the whole thing on the log ride, because _damn_ that had been erotic. She was never going to look at a Klondike Bar the same way again, that was for sure. Or Lincoln Logs. Or water, for that matter.

What was also sure was that her body was still humming and feverish, and she was pretty certain the only prescription was _more Spike_. All she needed to do was get him alone. And conveniently, the arcade was basically empty. Lots of alone-time opportunities. They just needed to find… There! She caught a flash of the Siamese kitten’s brown-tipped tail as it vanished behind one of the machines.

She was still holding Spike’s hand, and when she turned to look at him he was watching her, his eyes full of hunger and trepidation, and she stepped in and grabbed the lapels of his duster, jerking him down for a hard, swift kiss, catching his lower lip gently between her teeth as she withdrew. He glared at her like he wanted to kill her, except Buffy was starting to think that that wasn’t his wanting-to-kill face, it was his wanting-to-kiss face, and he’d just been wanting to kiss her ever since he met her.

Which she was beginning to think might be mutual.

She grabbed his hand again and walked backwards towards the machine the kitten had escaped behind, and he followed stompily, fingers nearly crushing hers, and she smiled, because the kitten had made an excellent choice of hidey-holes.

It certainly looked private. Which was really all Buffy cared about right now.

 

Which machine did the kitten go behind?

Donkey Kong [GO TO CHAPTER 65](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981060)

Pong [GO TO CHAPTER 43](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20980625)


	132. Chapter 132

Spike followed Buffy behind the game, but as soon as they were out of sight – had there been anyone in the empty arcade to see them – he dropped the basket and gave her hand a tug and a twist, and Buffy found herself pinned up against the back of the machine, Spike’s hands pressing her wrists into the wood by her ears.

“What the bloody hell was that, Slayer?” he muttered, glaring right into her eyes.

Buffy bared her teeth at him, panting. “The thing with the horsies? It’s called a carousel.”

Spike growled deep in his throat and lunged in, kissing her desperately, but when his lips started to travel down her throat Buffy ducked, taking his wrist and spinning so she had his arms twisted behind his back, his face pressed into the machine. He swore, sending a hot, surly glance over his shoulder.

Buffy rose on tiptoe and pressed against his back, so her lips were close to his ear. “Was there something else getting you all worked up?” She caught his earlobe between her teeth.

He groaned, low and harsh, tilting his head towards her. “You trying to make me dust?”

“Is that what it seems like?” Buffy was dizzy, desire and nervousness spinning her head. “And here I thought I was trying to turn you on.” She pressed a row of gentle kisses down the side of his neck.

“Mission bloody accomplished,” he snarled, twisting in her grasp, and then he was kissing her, or fighting her, or something in between, all tongues and teeth and hands, and then she stopped trying to figure out exactly what it was because it was glorious, that’s what it was, and she wanted it to never, ever stop.

She had her back against the game again, leg hiked up around Spike’s waist as they ground together, when he caught her wrists again and shoved them over her head, eyes blazing. “You and your bloody cream-filled torture device,” he muttered distractedly, eyes traveling down her body and back up to her face.

Buffy arched against him. “Give you some ideas?”

“Bloody inspirational,” Spike growled, releasing her wrists to cup her breasts. He bent and sucked one nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around over the fabric of her shirt. Buffy let her head fall back against the game, eyes closed, the grunts and battle cries of the digital death match a counterpoint to her own gasps and whimpers.

Spike paused and let his forehead fall against her sternum for a moment. “You’re going to be the death of me, Slayer,” he muttered, then shoved her shirt up to her armpits.

“Spike! What if someone sees?” Buffy hissed, but then his tongue was on her bare breast, wet and urgent, and she fell back again. “Oh god.”

“Nobody here,” Spike growled into her nipple, then did something with his teeth that made Buffy not care if the Pope himself were watching. She tangled her hands in his hair, urging him on.

Then his hands were fumbling under her skirt, and it made perfect sense to Buffy that her hands be there with his, shoving frantically at the waistband of her panties until they were down around her thighs. Spike fell to his knees amidst the tangled electrical cords as if he were in church, except he hooked his thumbs under her knees and hiked her thighs up and over his shoulders and set his mouth to her and oh god if he was praying it was the filthiest worship ever, his tongue tracing sutras and psalms deep into her until she was speaking in tongues herself, nonsense dripping from her lips like prophecies. She came hard against his lips, banging her head against the arcade game, and he groaned and lapped it up, his hands clutching at her thighs, and the game behind her growled _Finish him!_ and she laughed as he growled something profane right into her, building her up and up and up until she convulsed again, kicking his back hard enough to bruise, and then he was the one laughing, disbelieving mirth rumbling right up through her. He ducked in and gave her one tender, reverent kiss, right where she was still quaking like a revelation.

And then, just as he was starting in yet again, there was a burst of laughter as a troop of loud teens entered the arcade.

Frantically Buffy shoved at his head, and he glared up at her but heaved her up and back onto her feet as she tugged her shirt and her skirt and her panties back into place, hands trembling.

“Don’t fancy an audience?” he said wryly from his knees, wiping ostentatiously at his mouth.

“Of course not!” Buffy hissed back, though she felt a hot tremor run through her at the suggestion.

Spike rolled to his feet. “Suit yourself,” he said in a deliberately offhanded voice, setting his hands on her hips and pulling her up against him. “Wouldn’t mind some privacy for the next course.”

Buffy was trying to get her afterglow-addled brain to come up with a clever retort when she heard a plaintive _meow_ from above. She glanced up to see the calico kitten perched atop the Mortal Kombat game, blinking down in accusation.

“Oh god,” Buffy moaned as Spike reached up and snagged the kitten by the scruff of its neck, tucking it in the basket with the Siamese kitten and securing the lid. “I hope it wasn’t watching!”

Spike shrugged. “Doubt we’ve scarred it for life, love.” He patted the basket lid smugly. “Righty-ho. Two down, one to go.”

[GO TO CHAPTER 66](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981075)


	133. Chapter 133

Buffy looked around at the assembled Scoobies.

_Holy crap, did a tornado go through here and I missed it?_

Willow and Tara were disheveled, holding hands in a snuggly way that usually meant they’d been making out in the back room of the Magic Box – which probably meant they’d been making out in the carnival’s equivalent of a back room. Xander’s shirt was buttoned crookedly, and he was staring off into space with that goofy grin that signified having gotten The Sex, a conclusion confirmed by Anya’s preternatural neatness – Buffy was convinced Anya had a super-dimensional bag so she could carry her full arsenal of beauty supplies, she always looked so put-together. Giles was… Well, Giles was actually wandering around several yards away, but whatever, he wasn’t actually doing anything useful anyhow, and he too looked a little the worse for wear.

Of course, Spike also looked like he’d been… doing what they’d been doing… and it was pretty likely Buffy herself was a poster girl for Post-Sexytimes Couture, but she held her head high, because the right attitude could make any fashion disaster look intentional. Even sticky, damp, and rumpled.

Buffy was not surprised to find that she and Spike were the only ones who’d garnered a kitten.

“Sorry,” Willow muttered sheepishly. “We didn’t even see the other one.”

“Though what we did see was really interesting,” Tara said, casting a sly grin at Willow, who blushed and glanced quickly between Spike and Buffy.

Anya smiled brightly. “We figured you had the kitten situation under control and did date stuff instead. We were going to try the Tilt-a-Whirl, but when I saw it, it didn’t look fun at all, just like a lot of being thrown around over and over again, all jerky and repetitive. If I’m going to get thrown around and subjected to something jerky and repetitive, I’d rather just have sex, which is jerky and repetitive with orgasms. So we found a nice private utility closet. I’ve been doing yoga, so I wanted to show off to Xander just how flexible—“

“Thank you, Anya,” Buffy cut in. “I think it would be best for all of us if we kept the play-by-play of our carnival sexcapades to ourselves.”

Spike snorted behind her.

Anya sighed. “Well, then, we have nothing to report.”

“Anyone else?”

“Nothing reportable here,” Willow said, smiling crookedly. “Just, um, carnival… stuff.”

“What about you, Buffy? Spike?” Tara said, looking way too innocent. “Is anything you did reportable?”

“No,” Buffy said, keeping her head high. “Nothing… nothing reportable. Except the kitten. We caught a kitten.”

“See?” Anya elbowed Xander. “I told you everyone else was having sex too.”

“Okay then!” Buffy said, possibly a little too loudly. “One more kitten to go. Everyone split up, and we’ll meet back here in… an hour.”

“Not half an hour?” Willow asked.

“No,” Buffy said slowly, glancing sidelong at Spike. “I definitely want an hour.”

*

Once all the Scoobies had gone their separate ways, Spike sauntered up to Buffy, catching the hem of her shirt.

“An hour, eh?”

She raised her eyebrows. “I didn’t think half an hour was long enough.”

“Long enough for what, pray tell?” He cast a glance up at her that managed to be both wicked and vulnerable at the same time. How did he do that?

Buffy took a deep breath and looked him square in the eye. “Long enough to catch that stupid kitten, and then find someplace private.” She smiled slowly. “After all, you heard Anya. Everyone’s having sex.”

Spike laughed, short and incredulous, face soft and open for the barest moment before it shifted into naughty confidence.

“Should’ve made it two hours, love,” he remarked casually. “Or maybe five.”

“One will do for now,” Buffy shot back. “We still need to see if you’ll make it worth my while.” Which, okay, they both knew was an empty threat, because _damn_ , but Buffy was kind of thinking a bed might be nice for some of those promised hours. Especially since she conveniently owned one, along with a currently-empty house. It seemed silly not to take advantage of it.

Spike shrugged as if it made no difference to him. “All right then. Fancy another treat?”

She rolled her eyes. “What, again?” Though now that he mentioned it, she was feeling kinda grazey…

“Now, Slayer,” Spike said cajolingly. “You can’t tell me you’re not hungry after all that… activity. Chasing kittens. Licking—“

“Okay, Spike. Buy me a treat. Just… stop talking.” His voice was driving her demented, the kind of demented that led to Extreme Public Displays of Affection.

 “Got better uses for my tongue any road,” he said easily.

“As do I,” Buffy said, because damned if she was going to be the only one off-balance here. She regarded the array of carnival food before her, pondering….

 

What treat does Buffy choose?

Deep-Fried Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough [GO TO CHAPTER 42](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20980613)

Snow Cones [GO TO CHAPTER 98](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982053)

Cotton Candy [GO TO CHAPTER 35](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20980379)


	134. Chapter 134

A snow cone sounded light and refreshing after all the rich foods she’d already indulged in, and Buffy went extra-indulgey and got blue raspberry, which she loved but always avoided because it turned her tongue blue.

She had a feeling Spike didn’t care what color her tongue was as long as it was involved in kissing him.

She joined him at the picnic bench he’d claimed, sitting on his lap.

He tucked his hands around her waist, looking up at her in amusement. “What’s this all about, then?”

“What? The bench looks sticky.” She virtuously took a bite of her snow cone.

He shifted her on his lap, and well! Obviously Spike was all set for Buffy’s one-hour plan, which was good because so was she, her body tingling with awareness of his every movement, the feel of his hands on her hips and the hard length of his cock under her thighs and just the way he was looking at her, hungry and amazed at the same time.

 “See any sign of the kitten?” she asked casually, pulsing her hips against him.

Spike’s hands tightened on her hips. “Not a hair. Though I’m thinking that shed behind the Zipper seems a likely spot.”

“For the kitten to hide?”

He pressed a chaste kiss to her shoulder. “For privacy.”

Buffy took another bite of refreshing raspberry ice. “You do realize that if we get this kitten thing squared away, we then have the rest of the night off. We can do whatever we want, for as long as we want.”

Spike narrowed his eyes. “Whatever we want?”

She shrugged, looking off into the distance and giving another pulse of her hips. “That’s what I said.”

“Right, then!” He took her by the waist and set her on her feet, springing up beside her. “Let’s find that kitten!”

*

Anya was torn as to which carnival attraction they should try next, but then she saw a sign that made her squeal.

“Well, it’s a good thing you did all that vomiting earlier! Look!”

Xander obediently looked over at the sign that read _PIE EATING CONTEST! FABULOUS PRIZES!_ and groaned, which Anya easily interpreted as an ecstatic ‘yes’; she took him by the hand and dragged him into the contest tent.

Ten minutes later, she watched happily from the edge of the stage as Xander sat in the row of contestants, hands tied behind his back, a cherry pie in front of him. He had dragged his feet when they’d first entered the tent – poor baby must still be feeling queasy – but his eyes had goggled out at the table of prizes, which had as the grand prize a diamond bracelet. The second and third place prizes were nothing to sneeze at either, but that bracelet was just obviously meant for Anya’s slim and graceful wrist, and he had gladly signed all the paperwork for entering the contest and forked over his ten-dollar entry fee.

Anya glanced over at the bracelet now, feeling a bit wistful. She and Xander had talked a bit about other diamonds, specifically the fact that she really, really, _really_ wanted an engagement ring, but he’d hemmed and hawed and stalled and finally just come out and said that he _did_ want to marry Anya, but not until he’d gotten a little more money in the bank and possibly grown old enough to legally drink the champagne toast at his own reception, which made sense to her, though you’d think the stupid laws would be flexible about newlyweds, at least when one of those newlyweds was Anya, whose actual lived years averaged out with Xander’s to more than twenty _times_ the drinking age. But he’d then gone on to point out that being married and having kids would probably mean toning down the sexcapades, and that had made even more sense to Anya, because she was _so_ not ready to hang the handcuffs up forever. So she’d agreed that waiting would be good, and when she thought on it later, she reminded herself that Xander was still really young, that even though they were the same age in body she herself had centuries of experience on him, and so maybe he did need to grow up just a bit before tying the knot.

But that was all water under the bridge now. Anya had revised her five-year plan to a ten-year plan, adjusted her investments accordingly, and she was going all out in enjoying their freewheeling sexy young lovers’ lifestyle, making sure she got as much living in as possible before she had to pack it all away and start selling Mary Kay and going to PTA meetings.

She was really going to miss those handcuffs.

She was jolted out of her musings by the starting bell, and looked up to see Xander burying his face in his pie.

She couldn’t really see what he was doing, because the pie was in the way, but that meant he was doing it right, getting his tongue in and turning his head from side to side to get as much pie as possible without any wasted movement, and Anya shivered, because imagining what his tongue was doing to the pie made her then imagine his tongue doing those very things to her, which she knew from experience was a really, really good thing. That was the nice thing about having a boyfriend who liked to eat; he was a blue-ribbon-gold-medal champ at oral sex.

And possibly a champ at pie tonight – he was the first to lift his head, jerking his chin for more as he chewed, and then he was buried in the next pie and Anya was buried in her fantasies again.

It was a close contest – the guy down at the end was a Sepulva demon, which Anya privately thought wasn’t fair, given the second stomach – but she had faith in her man, and when the final bell rang and the judges investigated each final plate, attendants untying the contestants’ hands, her faith was vindicated. They raised Xander’s arm overhead in victory and he beamed down at her, face covered in cherry goo.

God, she loved him.

*

“Oh, darnit! Not another Pidgey!”

Andrew pouted in frustration as he stared at the screen of his Very Smart Phone. He’d just managed, through wily strategy and a mean curveball, to capture a Great Pokémon of Legend, and he had thought he was on his way to bigger and better things, truly destined to become the Greatest Pokémon Master of All Time. The Very Best, Like No-One Ever Was. How was he supposed to do that if he had to keep wasting his time on frickin’ _Pidgeys_?

 _Ah, well_ , he sighed in resignation, sitting down on a bench so he could do his Pokémon Master duty. _It is not by great deeds alone that wars are won…_ Was that a quote from somewhere? It really should be. He made a note to write it down later for his memoirs, just in case it was an Andrew Wells Original.

“That’s right, little Pidgey,” he crooned, lining up his Poké Ball. “You may just be a little chick in a big future-mall, but together, we can change the world….”

“Whatcha got there?”

Andrew looked up from his Very Smart Phone to see Jonathan looking down at him curiously. “Nothing!” he said hastily, shoving the phone in his pocket. “Just, you know. Nintendo.”

Warren strolled up then, and Andrew gave him a suspicious glare. Future Andrew had warned about Jonathan and Warren, but Andrew had a sneaking suspicion that Warren was the evil mastermind behind the nefarious plans of which he now had foreknowledge. Which made him both kinda hinky and kinda cool.

 _Not as cool as Future Me_ , Andrew reassured himself. Warren didn’t even have a leather duster. He just wore, like, T-shirts and flannels.

“So, you coming over for games this weekend?”

Had Warren’s voice always been that oily? “Maybe,” Andrew hedged. “I might have chores.”

“Well, you can always come by tonight. This carnival kinda blows, we were heading home in a bit. Interested?”

“Maybe,” Andrew mumbled again, but Warren clapped him on the back like he’d just given an enthusiastic _yes_.

“All right! We were going to go grab some chili-bacon-jalapeño dogs, you in?”

“No, uh… jalapeños give me gas.”

Warren laughed, too loudly. “Whoa, yeah, let’s not go there before the big game session then. My parents’ basement doesn’t have any ventilation. How’s about we meet you at the entrance, then? Say twenty minutes?”

Andrew didn’t even have a chance to answer before Warren and Jonathan, the Evil Duo of Future Evilness, strolled off towards the food stands.

“I’m not going,” he muttered to himself, pulling out his Very Smart Phone and staring at it glumly. The Pidgey had long since flown. He hadn’t even gotten to see the amusing little puff of smoke. There weren’t any other Pokémon around to catch, either.

He sat on the bench, all alone.

*

Buffy caught a glimpse of the Siamese kitten just a few minutes later, darting into a plain brown tent set a ways back from the midway; she took hold of Spike’s hand and tugged him along.

Inside the tent was dim, lit by a single bare bulb at the very center, utilitarian extension cord draped between the tent supports until it disappeared under the canvas wall. The tent itself contained plastic bins of what looked like food service equipment, bins marked _FLOUR_ and _SUGAR_ and _MSG_ , and miscellaneous wooden crates.

“Well,” Buffy said. “Looks like we found the Evil Supply Tent.”

Spike came up behind her, setting his hands lightly on her hips. “A fine and _private_ Evil Supply Tent.”

Buffy could only agree.

*

Willow and Tara stopped partway along the midway to watch a street magician who had set up a table between the arcade and the churros stand.

He was good, making balls and coins disappear and reappear with such alacrity and showmanship that Willow frowned. “Is he using real magic?”

Tara shook her head. “Just sleight of hand. Can’t you feel it?”

Willow smiled sheepishly. “Sorry. I’m not really as sensitive as you are.”

“Here.” Tara wound her fingers in Willow’s more tightly, letting her eyelids flutter closed. “Tune in with me.”

Oh, Willow loved when Tara would do this, open up her soul so the two of them could kind of flow together, attuned to each other and to the world around them; she closed her own eyes and let go.

The world was more beautiful through Tara eyes – Willow only got a pale shadow of it, but the passersby were suddenly glowing with all the colors of the rainbow, and the earth beneath their feet seemed to hum, and she turned her Tara-eyes on the magician, and she could see it now, how his aura was all-over the same, without the tingles and zips that Tara had taught her meant magical energies were at work.

“What’s that grey patch, right at the middle?” she whispered.

Tara looked over at her then. “Hunger. He… he probably hasn’t eaten for a while.”

Willow shook out of the trance, looking at the magician again with her own eyes. Now that she knew to look for it, she could see that his hands were trembling slightly. The battered top hat on the ground in front of his table had only a few dollars in it – probably his own, left there as a suggestion.

With another glance at Tara, Willow dug into her purse. She didn’t have a lot, though, and wouldn’t until financial aid for the fall came in. Tara added her few dollars to the fund, and they tucked them into the hat with a smile.

“That’ll get him something tonight,” Willow said with satisfaction.

“And tomorrow?” Tara’s eyes were worried.

Willow looked at the passersby, who were barely glancing the magician’s direction. “It’s a shame nobody’s watching. He’s really good.”

Tara gripped her hand tightly again. “We could help.”

“Could we? That wouldn’t upset the balance? Or upset him?”

“We won’t do anything to his act. He’s good enough that if people just look, they’ll enjoy. And we won’t _make_ anything happen. We’ll just… ask.”

They stepped off out of the path, between two tents, and Tara took both of Willow’s hands in hers, closing her eyes. “He just needs people to look, right? So we’ll call upon the light.”

Willow nodded and closed her own eyes, feeling the energies surging up through her feet from the earth, through Tara’s hands and back, around and around and around, all connected and natural, flowing like water, and she could feel Tara with her, their hearts synchronizing and their souls embracing, and together they sent out their humble request to the light, and the light answered.

There was a gasp from the crowd, and they peeked around the edge of the tent to see a brilliant lightshow following the magician’s movements. A passing family stopped to look, and then a couple, and then more, until he had a small crowd. The lightshow faded quickly, but they had been right – once the magician had an audience, they liked what they saw, and money started to come to his hat – not a magical rain of coins, like Willow might once have tried to create, but honest money given freely for honest entertainment.

“There,” Tara said with satisfaction. “That was a good thing.”

“You know what else is a good thing?” Willow said slyly, tugging Tara back between the tents. “You.”

Their magic was better without a crowd.

*

Giles stumbled wearily onward. He had found a spigot, a sink, and a water fountain, all of which had refused to yield water when he approached, and had finally lowered himself to wiping his glasses on the tail of his shirt, only to find that the candy floss had hardened like epoxy, resisting all his efforts to wipe or scrape it away, and so he had resigned himself to near-blindness, holding his glasses in his hand as he wandered through the indistinct blobs of the fair, hoping against hope that one of the blobs would turn out to be Buffy.

The fair was most definitely evil, and he felt she should know.

He tripped again, and his glasses flew out of his grasp, landing on the ground in front of them. There was no sound of shattering, though, so he crouched down and felt around until he found them, resting in a pile of something soft.

He lifted his glasses and looked ruefully at their new coating of brown.

“Elephant dung. Perfect.”

*

They kept hearing meows, but after several minutes of moving boxes and peering behind racks, they had yet to catch a glimpse of the Siamese kitten. Finally, Spike shrugged out of his duster and spread it out on one of the wooden crates.

“Have a seat, Slayer,” he grumbled. “May as well eat your ice while the kitten’s playing least-in-sight.”

“Aren’t we on a deadline here?” Buffy frowned, sitting on the black leather.

Spike gave a negligent shrug. “Got plenty of time,” he said casually. “You worried?”

Buffy shrugged back, trying to look just as unconcerned. “Well, there was talk of biting off heads.”

Spike hunkered down in front of her, tilting his head to peer up at her, expression vaguely pleased. “So you’re worried.”

“Well, of course I’m worried!” Buffy said sharply. “You’re my…. You’re…” _You’re mine_ , she thought fiercely, but god, she couldn’t say that, he’d think something weird, so instead she scooped up a big bite of raspberry ice and mumbled through the cold, “You’re my patrol buddy.”

He grinned up at her like she’d just told him Santa Claus was real, and was opening his mouth to say something in reply when there was a flash of movement that made them both turn their heads. The Siamese kitten had just leaped down from wherever it had been hiding, and as they watched it dashed right out the entrance of the tent.

“Bugger!” Spike snarled, springing to his feet. “Should we go after it?”

 

Follow the kitten?

Yes [GO TO CHAPTER 97](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982026)

No [GO TO CHAPTER 93](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981933)


	135. Chapter 135

Buffy turned in Spike’s arms until she could take his duster by the lapels. “You know what, Spike? I’m done.”

His eyes looked lost for a moment, then hardened. “Done,” he said darkly.

She bared her teeth up at him. “Yep. I am done with all this dancing around.” She gave him a good hard shake. “You know what I want? I want to fuck you.”

Spike’s mouth gaped open and Buffy grinned bigger, because making Spike speechless should earn her a medal. But it didn’t last long; he quirked an eyebrow and did something obscene with his tongue behind his teeth and set his hands to her waist. “Well, well, well,” he drawled. “Look who’s been brushing up on her George Carlin. Good thing we’re not on TV.”

Buffy started to walk backwards, slowly, pulling Spike along with her. “But I’m not sure you’re ready for it,” she continued. “So I have a challenge for you.”

Spike nodded in polite inquiry as she let him go, taking two more steps backwards, until she was flat against one of the mirrors, her fingertips stroking the glass suggestively. “This mirror is just so, so fragile,” she cooed. “But it feels so very good, cool and smooth and slippery…”

Spike laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. “You want me to…”

“Don’t crack it,” Buffy said sweetly. “That would be wrong.” She let her eyelids droop, running one of her hands over her stomach. “I’d have to punish you.”

Spike laughed again, voice catching, and stalked closer, but she stopped him with her hand on his chest. “Naked first,” she said firmly, then let her hand fall to his belt buckle. “But I’ll take this.” His stomach was trembling as she slowly undid the buckle and tugged the belt free from his jeans, looping it around her neck so the ends dangled down over her breasts.

Spike just stood there looking for a long moment, speechless again – seriously, Buffy was like the Mary Lou Retton of the Speechless Spike Olympics – before awkwardly yanking off his shirt. “You’re evil,” he said conversationally as he tugged at the laces of his boots, breaking one. “I like it.”

“Evil is as evil does,” Buffy agreed primly, teasing at her nipple with Spike’s belt buckle. He groaned and shucked his jeans in medal-contender time, until he was standing before her, gorgeously naked and trembling with anticipation.

Buffy swept him with a scornful glance, then smiled. “You look ready to rumble,” she said brightly, running her hands up his hard chest and around the nape of his neck – then urging him downward. “But I think I need a little more lubrication.”

Spike quirked an eyebrow at her, but he didn’t seem to need any further convincing, falling promptly to his knees and hiking Buffy’s leg up over his shoulder, regarding her with speculation before grinning hotly up Buffy’s body. “Any special requests?”

“You know the drill,” Buffy said, trying to sound bored, though her voice was shaking. “Don’t break the mirror.”

Spike nipped lightly at her inner thigh. “I’ll be very careful indeed,” he assured her, then set his mouth to her.

Buffy could feel Spike’s tension radiating off him like summer heat, but the first sweet stroke of his tongue was so gentle and tender that it brought tears to her eyes. She was still swollen and throbbing from everything that had come before, and it wasn’t long before the sweet sips he was taking from her had her clutching at his hair – which was getting seriously mussed, she noted with approval. He was twice as hot when he was rumpled.

He took a moment to nuzzle into her damp curls. “Got plans for that belt, pet?”

“Maybe,” Buffy teased.

She actually had no idea what to do with the belt – it had just seemed like the kind of thing likely to drive Spike wild with speculation – but she supposed she could come up with something. In the meantime, she drew it from her neck and held it so it dangled down Spike’s back, the belt buckle tapping at his ass as he moved – and oh yes, from the way he laughed into her and the redoubled fervor of his tongue, it _was_ driving him wild, and the fact that she was driving him wild was suddenly driving _her_ wild, and the next thing she knew she was coming against his tongue.

“Don’t stop,” she ordered.

“Not bloody likely,” Spike muttered, then his lips were on her again, and his tongue and his teeth, and oh god it was too much, she was right on the brink again, and when she tumbled into another sharp orgasm, she just couldn’t wait anymore, tugging at his hair to get him up where she could kiss him.

He kept hold of her leg, hooking it around his waist as they kissed, open-mouthed and passionate, sliding his cock lazily all through her wetness until Buffy was done being lazy; she reached down and took him in her hand and tilted her hips and then he was inside her, eyes naked and somehow surprised.

His eyes were glued to hers as she started to move, slowly gliding up and down his length, the glacial gentleness excruciating and yet perfect, and then he took over the rhythm, pulling her other leg up to wrap around her waist, which was even better; Buffy found herself grasping at the mirror, hands skittering over the surface as she gasped and clenched her thighs around him and he laughed into her chest, kissing her in random places, catching one nipple and sucking it hard before running his tongue over to the other, purposeful but distracted, broken by grunts and muttered curses. Buffy still held the belt – it was swinging against his back – and she pulled it up until it was flat against the back of his neck, the tails hanging between their bodies and digging into her flesh with each cautious thrust, and she used it to reel him in for more kissage, and oh god the feel of him, the feel of them together, it was all too much…

And a sharp crack sounded behind her, echoing ominously through the hall of mirrors.

They both froze, looking at each other, and then Buffy felt a wicked smile creep across her face. “Oh, no,” she said, voice dripping with honey. “Someone’s been very… very… naughty.”

She pushed off the mirror – hearing more cracks sound behind her, but she didn’t care anymore – and Spike tumbled backwards to the ground, and she fell with him, the impact driving him deeper, and maybe later she would figure out how they had managed not to injure themselves, but right now all she cared about was he was inside her and she was right on the edge and they were both still striving together, his hands on her ass as she impaled herself on him over and over again until she came with a scream, collapsing over his chest.

He was still pumping inside her, lazily again, when she managed to push herself back up, glaring at him through a sweaty tangle of hair. “You broke the mirror,” she said lamely.

Spike lifted an unrepentant eyebrow. “Guess you’ll have to punish me.”

Buffy stared down at him, feeling wild and reckless and yet terrified, because… Oh god, what was she supposed to do? She wanted something, that was sure – she’d been feeling supercharged ever since she’d decided to let out her inner dominatrix – but other than a vague image of fishnets and leather and riding crops, she really didn’t have any concrete ideas what the process entailed. Her confusion must have shown on her face, because Spike stilled beneath her, looking off to the side.

“Slayer, you don’t…”

Buffy set her chin and sat up proudly. “Shut up, Spike,” she bit out.

He shut up, eyes gleaming up at her in speculation.

“You,” she said softly, “are a bad, bad boy.”

“Gonna spank me?” Spike asked cheekily.

And there was another surprise, the rush of heat that swept through Buffy at _that_ thought, but she was still coming to terms with all the other things she’d learned about herself over the course of the evening, and she set that thought aside for another day, instead drawing the belt out from behind his neck, slowly and inexorably.

“Maybe later.” Instead, she glared down at him. “Hold out your hands.”

With a trailing caress, he took his hands from her hips and presented them, fisted.

She took the belt and wrapped it snugly about his wrists, buckling the ends. “Now put your arms over your head.”

Quivering, Spike complied.

She trailed her fingernails across his chest lightly. “Now. Lie back and take your punishment like a man.” She clenched hard around him and started to move.

She watched his eyes carefully, because for all her bravado, she was twisted up with nervousness, worried she’d gone too far, but she knew the belt wouldn’t hold him for a second if he wanted to break free, and he was watching her as if she were Athena, his face drawn into a desperately-trying-not-to-grin pout, and she grew bolder and rougher, until they were pounding together like thunder and lightning, his hips jerking up to meet her in harsh rhythm, and oh god, her orgasm took her like the rapture, and she fell gasping forward onto Spike’s chest.

He laughed brokenly beneath her, arms still over his head. “I think I’ve been badder than that.”

Buffy pushed herself up just far enough she could look into his face, worried. “I don’t… I don’t want to actually hurt you,” she whispered.

Spike smiled at that, a smile like she’d never seen on his face before. Like he was actually… happy. “You know I like it rough,” he whispered back, as if they were telling secrets that Dominatrix Buffy and Bad Boy Spike weren’t allowed to hear. “You won’t.”

“I…” Buffy flushed, because this was surreal, lying here naked with Spike inside her, negotiating kinky things. She’d never had this kind of conversation before, and she couldn’t help but feel embarrassed, putting her wants and needs right out in the open instead of hiding them away like Easter eggs. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Don’t you?” Spike purred. “Then trust your instincts. Let go. You know how to kill a vampire.” His eyes flared. “Just _don’t_ kill me.”

“What if… what if you don’t like it?”

“I’ll like it,” he said, low and hard. “If you’re making love to me, I’ll like it.” And then he shrugged. “Or if I don’t, I’ll let you know.”

She kissed him then, because she couldn’t not kiss him in that moment, sliding her hands up his taut arms until they reached the leather belt, so she was stretched all out along him as their tongues tangled, and then she sat up, slowly dragging her fingernails the length of his arms, and he hissed out her name, glaring up at her as if he wanted her dead – except now she knew that was all desire, every ounce of it, and perhaps it always had been, perhaps all their battles over the years had just been foreplay, leading inevitably to this very moment, Buffy’s true self reflected in a thousand mirrors, and one vampire’s eyes.

“So, you like it rough,” she grinned down at him.

“Do your worst, Slayer,” he grinned back. “You’ll never break me.” Then he rolled his eyes in patently false fear. “But whatever you do, Slayer, don’t do that thing with your nails again. No, no, not that!”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Seriously, Spike?”

“What?” he said, looking miffed. “Was just offering a suggestion. You’re a contrary sort, thought you might like it better if you thought I didn’t.”

“I’m not a…. Well, okay, I am a contrary sort. But not here.” She looked down at his chest, frowning, then splayed her hands out over his skin. “Like this?” she murmured, then dug her nails in, tracing                                       hard lines that blanched white, then turned angry red.

His cock jumped inside her. “Yeah,” he growled.

“How about this?” She leaned forward and took one of his flat nipples between her teeth.

“God.”

And then she shoved his shoulders hard into the ground, bearing down on him, because playtime was well and truly over.

She knew that she was only dipping her toe in the “rough” that Spike was talking about, but he had said to let go, and so she did, she let go, and god she had never realized how much she was holding back until she opened the floodgates, taking Spike with all the strength that she possessed, feeling incandescent. He bowed beneath her, snarling, teeth bared up at her, and she clenched her knees tight to his ribs and reached behind her, arching so she could curve her hands around his ass, and oh god the new angle felt glorious, she dug her nails in and thrust her hips harder and harder, letting go, she let it _all_ go, and oh. _Oh._ Her orgasm ripped through her, or no, she was the one doing the ripping, tearing through the cocoon she had been hibernating in, setting herself free to fly, and as she started to come down she laughed and laughed, and she could hear Spike laughing as well, and she leaned forward and smiled down at him beatifically, because she wasn’t done with him yet.

“You’re mine,” she said sharply.

He nodded in response, eyes adoring, and she took his shoulders and slammed him into the ground.

“Say it,” she ordered.

“I’m yours, Buffy,” he said, low and fervent.

Ah, the way he said her name…. “I can do anything I want with you.”

“Anything you want,” Spike agreed, stretching his arms tauter overhead.

“And what I want…” Buffy flushed red, because she wasn’t used to this, this saying things right out loud, but she was too deep now to quit. “What I want is to make you come.”

Spike lifted an eyebrow, daring. “Well, that should be easy enough.” He shifted his hips against her, reminding her that yes, he was still inside her and yes, he was still rock hard, and Buffy clenched punishingly tight around him, because saying things was hard, but action she could totally handle.

“Not so fast,” she said in a voice like steel, and he stilled. “Not… not until I say.”

He stared up at her questioningly, but she had it now, she knew what she wanted, and she lifted her head in regal pride. “I,” she said loftily, “am going to fuck you. And you…” she poked him in the center of his chest, fingernail breaking the skin. “You are going to lie there and take it until I give you _permission_ to come.”

“And if I fail?”

Buffy lifted her eyebrows. “Don’t fail.” And she set herself to his pleasure.

She already knew he liked the fingernails and so she started with that, scraping them across his chest as she gently pulsed around his cock, lightly at first, then harder, until the marks she left started to stay longer than just a few seconds. Then she tugged his arms up, unwrapping the belt, which she meditatively coiled as she rocked above him, setting to the side.

“Letting me go so soon, Slayer?” Spike gasped up at her.

“Just feel like being a little hands-on,” Buffy said airily, then slammed his wrists into the floor by his shoulders, riding him hard until he was gritting his teeth, eyes wild.

“Had enough?” she gasped.

“Like hell,” Spike spit out.

And so she reared back, releasing his wrists. He slid his freed hands to her hips, and she slapped him across the cheek – lightly, for her, but hard enough to show she meant business.

“No touching without my permission,” she growled.

“Right,” Spike said faintly, eyes rolling back again. “God, Buffy, please let me touch you!”

“Nipples only,” Buffy decreed, and he groaned and reached up, roughly pulling at her nipples until Buffy shoved his hands away with a muttered “Enough!” and picked up the belt.

Spike watched her, enthralled, as she uncoiled the belt again, just as slowly as she’d coiled it, then folded it in half and gave it a good snap. Spike quivered beneath her as if he expected her to beat him, and as if he expected to like it, and oh _there_ was another thing to file away for later.

“I always thought Spike was a dog’s name,” she said silkily instead, then reached down and tucked the end of the belt under his head. “And California has very strict laws. All dogs must be kept on a leash.” She buckled the belt around his neck, forcing a hole through the leather where she wanted it, not too tight and not too loose – though god, he didn’t _need_ to breathe, she could… She shook herself, stuffing that thought too into her overflowing mental file of Things Buffy Should Try with Spike Later, and tugged on the makeshift leash she had created. “There,” she said with satisfaction. And then she let loose.

She gave it to him hard, pounding her hips into his until he was swearing. She gave him slow and tender, squeezing tightly around him with each thorough rock. She swirled and jolted and writhed, and all the while she watched his face, the telltale twitch of his jaw, backing off whenever she thought he was close, because she didn’t want it to end too soon. Through it all she held the leash tight, feeling powerful and womanly and in control.

But even focused as she was on Spike’s pleasure, she couldn’t hold back her own, and as she felt herself building and building, she gave Spike more and more, breaking up the rhythm with unexpected thrusts and contractions, until she could tell he was right on the edge with her, his face clenched, eyes slitted as he watched her.

“Beg me,” she hissed.

“Please, Buffy,” Spike gritted out through his teeth.

And she did something, oh god she didn’t even know what she did herself, squeezing and thrusting and twisting somehow, tugging the leash tight and pressing the leather hard against her own swollen clit as she moved once, twice, and she screamed out her release into the mirrors.

“Now, Spike!”

And he grabbed her hips in a grip like steel, driving deep into her, and she could feel his spasms as he spilled inside her, his body bowing up and his mouth gasping wide, and it was beautiful, so beautiful, and somehow Buffy was crying, great heaving sobs of relief and joy and knowledge. Spike sat up, tucking his legs cross-legged beneath her, wrapping his arms tight around her back and stroking her hair, making sweet shushing noises, and she hugged him back, grinding her wet cheeks into his until the sobs faded and Spike lay back, gently arranging her so she was snuggled into his shoulder.

They lay there in silence for a long time, faint echoes of calliope music drifting in from the outside, a reminder that eventually they had to leave the hall of mirrors and rejoin the world, but Buffy wasn’t ready yet.

“I love you, Buffy,” Spike said suddenly into the stillness. “You know that, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she said back softly. “I… I know.”

“Good,” Spike said quietly. Then he nuzzled into the top of her head. “God, that was something.”

“Did I do it right?” Buffy said shyly, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. He was regarding her with wonder, eyes soft and adoring. “Was I… was it good?”

Spike laughed faintly. “God, better than good. I’ve never…” He didn’t finish the sentence, burying his face in her hair for a long moment before going on. “I think you’ve found your bloody calling.”

“Never? I thought…”

“Not like that,” Spike said fervently. “And not with you.” He tucked one hand in to toy with her breast. “Though if you like, I can show you some more uses for the belt…”

Buffy curled into him, eyes wide open, mind racing. “Yeah,” she said at last, feeling like she was jumping off a cliff. “Show me later.”

“All right, then,” he chuckled. “Later.”

And Buffy stared across the way, and wondered who the girl in the mirrors really was.

*

Wonderful as the cuddling was, it was hard to get around the fact that they could not spend the rest of their lives naked in the Hall of Mirrors, so eventually they disentangled themselves from each other, gathering the scattered pieces of their clothes. It was weirdly mundane, and decidedly surreal – watching Spike pick up an article of clothing in reality, and watching the clothing disappear in the mirror at the same time.

“How does that work?” Buffy asked, after watching Spike’s shirt vanish into thin air.

“What?”

“The clothes. They have a reflection… and then they don’t.”

Spike shrugged, tugging the shirt over his head. “Dunno. It just does.” He sauntered over to her and slipped his arms around her waist, kissing her shoulder. “Cameras work too, and I hear tell they involve mirrors of some kind. My considered opinion is that it’s not the mirror, it’s something about the human brain looking at the mirror.”

Buffy frowned thoughtfully. “So maybe, like, cats can see vampires in mirrors?”

Spike grinned into her shoulder. “Maybe. But here’s something that’s certain.” He released her and took three swift strides, reaching behind a corner. “ _Vampires_ can see _cats_ in mirrors.” And he scooped up the calico kitten. It mewed sleepily.

“And kitten makes three,” Spike said with satisfaction.

 

[GO TO CHAPTER 94](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981942)


	136. Chapter 136

Buffy put her hands on her hips, glaring around at the assembled Scoobies. “Okay, not to be all paranoid, but does anyone else feel… all Groundhog Day? Like we’ve been in this exact situation before?”

Something about Ethan Rayne’s smile caught her attention, and she stormed over to where he was bound on the dirt. “All right, spill. What the hell is going on?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about,” he began in an injured tone of voice, but a little flicker of movement caught Buffy’s eyes, and she caught at his wrist, yanking him to where she could see his bound hands.

He was clutching an intricate silver pendant, something carved in the shape of a squid or a spider or something else with numerous appendages, each tipped with a different-colored gemstone; his thumb was planted in the very middle, on a smooth green cabochon that glowed unpleasantly; Buffy snatched it out of his hand, and his smug, challenging expression shifted into something like rage for the barest moment.

“What’s this?” Buffy growled.

“Nothing you need concern yourself with,” he said, an oily grin wiping over his face. “It’s not even remotely important.”

“Oh, really? Because it seems to me that if you didn’t think it was important, you wouldn’t be clinging to it like Gollum on a gold ring.”

She set the pendant in the palm of her hand and inspected it. Up close, the creature it depicted was somehow obscene – and not in the enjoyable way – and when she tried to count its limbs, or tentacles, or… god, she hoped they weren’t penises, but you never knew with demons… she kept losing track, and then she realized the gem in the center was still glowing hypnotically, and she could feel herself being drawn to it somehow, and…. She flung the pendant to the ground and stomped on it with the heel of her boot.

Nothing happened, and Ethan laughed.

Buffy glared at him, and stomped again, a little harder, and there was a crack beneath her heel and a crack of thunder overhead and a sharp crackle of ozone, and then it was there before her, all multi-armed – they _were_ arms after all, thank god – and glowy and huge.

“Well, well, well,” Buffy grinned. “Looks like we have a demon throwing a wrench in the Ferris Wheel.”

“There’s a demon?” said Giles behind her. “If someone could perhaps describe its main characteristics to me…”

She ignored him. “I don’t know what kind of demon you are, and I don’t really care. But if you’re palling around with Ethan Rayne and messing with my timelines, I have a bone to pick with you.”

The demon simply laughed, great booming peals of laughter, and started to move its many arms in a hypnotic pattern, and Buffy felt the strength leaching from her body, until she was just standing before the creature, watching helplessly. As she watched, its many-fingered hands started to glow and streams of light came flowing out, the streams twisting and morphing until they formed words that glowed and pulsed a sickly green. The words spun and writhed until they were circling around Buffy, surrounding her like a swarm of bees. They flashed before her eyes blindingly, LEFT and YES and PONG and COTTON CANDY and CALICO, word after word after word until Buffy was dizzy.

 _CHOOSE!_ the demon’s voice rang out, deep and seductive. _YOU MUST CHOOSE!_

Almost against her will, Buffy’s hand reached out to the vortex of choices. She steeled herself, gritting her teeth and narrowing her eyes, but then she saw it. The word that could get her out of this.

She chose.

 

What does Buffy choose?

Nothing [GO TO CHAPTER 14](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20979113)

Pikachu GO TO CHAPTER 119

Normal [GO TO CHAPTER 71](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981339)

Pie [GO TO CHAPTER 137](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982887)

Tiger [GO TO CHAPTER 95](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981963)

Spike [GO TO CHAPTER 120](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982479)

Friendship [GO TO CHAPTER 39](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20980523)

Free Will [GO TO CHAPTER 138](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20982923)


	137. Chapter 137

Buffy plucked the word “pie” out of the air, and for a moment she could swear the demon looked confused, but then it didn’t look like anything at all, because its face had been obscured by an aluminum pie plate. Another pie smacked into the demon’s chest, and Buffy turned to see Xander with another pie ready in throwing position.

“Hurry up and kill it!” Anya said. “Xander’s wasting the pies he won!” She turned to Willow. “He won me this bracelet too, but he was looking forward to eating the pies in a couple of days, when his stomach doesn’t feel like it’s going to explode.”

Buffy whirled back to the demon with a spin kick, connecting soundly with its head; its arms waved futilely as she whirled and kicked and punched, and… what the hell, pie was for sharing and so was slaying. At least when she was on a date.

“Spike! Want a piece of this?”

He appeared by her side. “Thought you’d never bloody ask.”

They pummeled the demon back into the parking lot, which was great, lots of room to maneuver, but Buffy knew Giles would kill her if she dropped a huge demon on his sports car, so she somersaulted behind the demon, coming up behind it and neatly snapping its neck.

“Well,” Spike said. “That’ll put marzipan in your pie plate.” Off Buffy’s confused look, he shrugged. “Just an expression.”

Buffy turned back to Ethan Rayne, who had stopped trying to look suave and was just furious.

“So,” she said brightly. “Got any more trinkets I need to destroy?”

Ethan laughed nastily. “The Cho’a Demon’s effects aren’t eliminated so easily. They will continue to suck you in, making you loop through the fair over and over until the energies dissipate. Who knows how many times you’ll be forced to face my brilliant creation?”

Buffy shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll beat it every time. And that also means I’ll get to punch you in the jaw over and over. I have a sneaking suspicion that, even though _we’ve_ been forgetting all the time loops, _you_ , as the wizard who cast the spell, will get to remember every single one. Am I right?”

The look in Ethan’s eyes was all the answer she needed. God, she hoped the next time through she went for the groin.

She turned to Giles. “Got any ideas what to do with him?”

“I believe I could make a few phone calls, when I am once again able to read the numbers on a telephone. There are groups that could ensure he is properly… restrained.” He shrugged. “Failing that, I’m quite willing to give him a good thrashing myself.” He muttered something under his breath about knowing the weaknesses of the Cho’a demon very well indeed, if only anyone had ever bothered to describe the bloody thing.

“Sounds like a plan.” Buffy lugged Ethan off to Giles’s convertible.

“Buffy, I suspect the trunk is too small for a man of Ethan’s…” Giles trailed off as Buffy folded Ethan into the tiny trunk and shut it decisively. “Well. I suppose it’s not a very long trip.” He took his glasses off, squinting at them ruefully. “Xander, perhaps you should drive.”

Xander nodded, licking the last bits of cherry pie filling off his fingers.

“Oooh! Shotgun!” Anya’s hand shot up.

Giles glared in her general direction. “I will not squeeze into the back seat of my own vehicle like a bloody sardine.”

Anya’s face fell. “Four people in the back seat isn’t any fun if Xander’s not there. Even if he does take up half the space.”

Buffy sighed. “It won’t be four people. I’ll walk back to town.”

“Buffy, are you sure?” Tara asked with a worried frown. “We don’t mind being a little smooshed.”

“Nah, it’s good.” Buffy smiled, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s no more than I usually walk on patrol. You all go ahead and I’ll catch up. Just save some of the pummeling for me, ‘kay?” Because really, why wait until the next time around to go for the groin?

Buffy waved cheerily as the Scoobies piled into the convertible, the basket of kittens settled securely onto Willow’s lap, and drove off down the road.

That weird kid, the one Spike had crashed into earlier in the evening, gathered up his broken device, and approached her warily. “Buffy Summers?”

Now that she had a good look at him, he seemed familiar. “Do I know you?”

“I’m Andrew. From Sunnydale High?” Her confusion must have shown on her face, because he flushed. “Tucker’s brother.”

“Oh.” That… was not a recommendation. She waited patiently for him to say something else. Then, when he remained silent, impatiently.

Finally, he looked away. “Yeah. So… Thanks for beating up that guy. He cracked my Very Smart Phone. That was so not cool”

“Your phone is smart?” Buffy looked at the little palm-sized device, confused.

“But I checked and it still works, so… thanks.”

“You’re welcome?” Maybe he wasn’t all bad. At least he was polite.

Another vaguely-familiar guy came up and clapped him on the shoulder. “So. Wanna go play some video games?” Buffy noticed Jonathan, of all people, hovering on the fringes; he gave her a little wave.

Andrew glanced back at Buffy, then glared at the new guy. “Go away, Warren. You just want people to help you take over Sunnydale, and I’m not in. You can go play with yourself.” And then he walked right past Warren to Jonathan.

“I’ve got something really cool to show you. Let’s go to your place. Your mom lets us sit on the couch.” He glared back at Warren one last time, then departed with a slightly-befuddled Jonathan in tow. Muttering in frustration, Warren headed off in a different direction.

Buffy watched them all go, then stretched her arms wide and took in deep lungsful of the night air.

“You’re walking, are you?” Spike stepped forward into her peripheral vision.

She shrugged casually. “Better me than any of them.” She started on her way.

He fell in beside her. “So. We’ve been going through the funfair over and over, yeah?”

“Yep.”

“How many times do you think we…?” She couldn’t see his face, walking next to him, but she suspected he was leering wickedly, from the tone of his voice.

Buffy laughed. “Who knows? Maybe this was the only time. Or maybe….” She took a deep breath, let it out. “Maybe it always happened. Maybe it was inevitable.” She suddenly took his hand, winding her fingers in his. “Maybe it would have happened even without the carnival.”

They walked in silence for a while, the sounds of the carnival fading behind them, but when the night was almost silent, the nocturnal sounds almost drowning out the faint hint of music, Spike gave Buffy’s hand a tug and stepped in front of her, looking at her with a thousand expressions at once, hope and terror and elation and confusion all mingled together in that way he had, so the expression was just… Spike.

“That last thing you said,” he growled. “Been trying to suss it out all this time, and I’m still muddled. Mind explaining?”

Buffy looked down at their joined hands. “Yeah. So, tonight was… well, it was a thing. Kind of a big thing, for me.” She looked up at him, suddenly afraid. “It… it was big for you, too, right?”

“Yeah,” Spike said, voice strangled. He cleared his throat, then repeated the word more clearly. “Yeah. It was big.”

She sighed, relieved. “So I was thinking it was sudden, that it came out of nowhere, but then I realized… it really didn’t. This thing, whatever it is, it’s been growing for months, like… I dunno, maybe a vine? All climbing up into us like a trellis. And tonight, it’s like all the flowers burst into bloom at once, and you look at them and think _wow, flowers!_ like they’re something brand new. Except… they were growing into flowers all along, you know?”

“…I know.”

“And I knew it was growing,” Buffy continued. “I could feel it, and I knew what was coming, but I was… I was scared. Because I didn’t know that they were going to be beautiful flowers. I kept thinking, what if they’re, like, skull flowers? Or poisonous? What if they’re all Little Shop of Horrors and eat people? What if they’re like those really smelly flowers, the ones that smell like a decaying corpse – aren’t they called corpse flowers? – and I actually know what that smells like, it’s really gross, and—“

“Buffy,” Spike interrupted. “I think you might be straining the analogy.”

“Am I?”

“Yeah, a bit.” He took up her other hand, gently. “And you’re babbling.”

Buffy huffed in frustration. “Okay. Sorry, I’m a little nervous. Um… where was I?”

“You were scared of the flowers.”

“Right.” She took another deep breath. “So anyhow, the flowers turned out to be beautiful, and now… now I’m not scared anymore.” She looked up at him, squeezing his fingers. “Now I can say it.”

“Buffy, I—“

“Shut up, Spike,” she said gently.

He looked at her sardonically. “That’s what you were waiting to say? You say that a dozen times a—“

Buffy silenced him with a kiss.

Their hands were still intertwined by their sides when she withdrew, and she tucked Spike’s hands behind her waist before sliding her own up his chest and around his neck, because she wanted him to be paying attention for this part.

Her voice was clear and confident. “I love you, Spike.”

He looked at her like she was a mirage, then groaned and wrapped his arms around her.

“Say it again,” he whispered into her hair.

She said it again, and again, but when he begged for a fourth time, she pushed out of his arms, laughing. “I think we’ve repeated enough things tonight, don’t you?”

Spike’s face suddenly hardened. “That Ethan bloke, he said it wasn’t over. That we’d get pulled back in and repeat the bloody funfair more times, until the energies dissipated.”

“Yeah, so?” Buffy took Spike’s hand up again and started walking down the road, reminded that there was still pummeling on the evening’s agenda. Which wasn’t as good as kissing Spike, but still was not to be missed.

He stalked along next to her, tense. “So we’re gonna forget this, yeah? Like we forgot all the other times. And then the last time through, that’s the one that’ll stick.” He ran his free hand through his hair angrily. “What if… what if we don’t end up with this?”

Buffy turned to him, cupping a hand around his cheek. “Spike. Did you miss the part where I said inevitable?” She firmed up her hand, just enough that he knew she was serious. “The evil carnival didn’t make this happen. _We_ made this happen, all summer, and if in the very end it doesn’t happen at the carnival? It’s still going to happen.” And she kissed him until he believed her. Or at least as long as she could before coming up for air, but she was pretty sure from the look in his eyes afterwards that she’d made him a believer.

They started walking again, and soon they came upon Spike’s ancient black car.

Spike dropped Buffy’s hand and jogged a little ahead, opening the shotgun door for her. “Give you a ride back to town?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” she said lightly, sliding onto the bench seat and fastening her seatbelt. When he slid in behind the wheel, she unfastened it again and slid over to the middle, fastening _that_ seatbelt and snuggling up while he started the ignition and shifted into drive.

He rested his arm around her shoulders gingerly, like he thought she was a balloon that might pop at any moment. “So,” he said casually. “Any plans for the rest of the night?”

She shrugged. “Was planning on staying in for at least two hours.” She took hold of his hand, tugging it more securely around her. “Or maybe five.”

He laughed shortly, squeezing her shoulder. “All right then.”

Buffy cuddled into Spike as he drove the DeSoto down the road, leaving the lights and sounds and tastes of the carnival behind them forever.

Or at least until the next adventure.

 

Congratulations on helping Buffy and Spike solve the mystery of the Carnivorous Carnival! Would you like to try again? [Go to Chapter 1!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20978552)

[Read the Author’s Notes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20983016)


	138. Chapter 138

Buffy clutched the words “free will” in her fist, feeling them dissolve away into tendrils of green energy. “I choose my own path,” she said fiercely, and drove her clenched fist right into the demon’s face.

It shuddered, its arms twitching spasmodically, and in the respite from trance Buffy launched into an offensive, kicking it in the chest and head, driving it backwards and backwards until a powerful side kick sent it flying into a bandstand where a rock band was playing.

“Good lord, is that Rush?” Giles’s voice came from behind her, but Buffy didn’t have time to worry about whose concert she was interrupting; she leapt after the demon, pummeling it as it tried to rise, sending it stumbling onto the stage and into the drum set.

The musicians scattered, dropping their instruments, and Buffy seized upon the wealth of weapons available to her, smashing the demon in the face with a black guitar and entangling it with cords from the microphones and finally bringing a cymbal crashing down into its face, before giving the head a decisive twist. Its neck cracked like a gunshot and Buffy tossed her hair back and stood heaving atop the corpse… suddenly realizing she had an audience, rapt and still.

A moment later, the audience as one leapt to their feet, cheering raucously.

Buffy took a bow and exited stage left.

*

On the demolished stage, Geddy Lee mournfully fished the crushed remnants of his beloved 1972 Fender Jazz Bass out of the wreckage.

“That’s it. We are never playing the evil carnival circuit again.”

*

Buffy turned back to Ethan Rayne, who had stopped trying to look suave and was just furious.

“So,” she said brightly. “Got any more trinkets I need to destroy?”

Ethan laughed nastily. “The Cho’a Demon’s effects aren’t eliminated so easily. They will continue to suck you in, making you loop through the fair over and over until the energies dissipate. Who knows how many times you’ll be forced to face my brilliant creation?”

Buffy shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll beat it every time. And that also means I’ll get to punch you in the jaw over and over. I have a sneaking suspicion that, even though _we’ve_ been forgetting all the time loops, _you_ , as the wizard who cast the spell, will get to remember every single one. Am I right?”

The look in Ethan’s eyes was all the answer she needed. God, she hoped the next time through she went for the groin.

She turned to Giles. “Got any ideas what to do with him?”

“I believe I could make a few phone calls, when I am once again able to read the numbers on a telephone. There are groups that could ensure he is properly… restrained.” He shrugged. “Failing that, I’m quite willing to give him a good thrashing myself.” He muttered something under his breath about knowing the weaknesses of the Cho’a demon very well indeed, if only anyone had ever bothered to describe the bloody thing.

“Sounds like a plan.” Buffy lugged Ethan off to Giles’s convertible.

“Buffy, I suspect the trunk is too small for a man of Ethan’s…” Giles trailed off as Buffy folded Ethan into the tiny trunk and shut it decisively. “Well. I suppose it’s not a very long trip.” He took his glasses off, squinting at them ruefully. “Xander, perhaps you should drive.”

Xander nodded, licking the last bits of cherry pie filling off his fingers.

“Oooh! Shotgun!” Anya’s hand shot up.

Giles glared in her general direction. “I will not squeeze into the back seat of my own vehicle like a bloody sardine.”

Anya’s face fell. “Four people in the back seat isn’t any fun if Xander’s not there. Even if he does take up half the space.”

Buffy sighed. “It won’t be four people. I’ll walk back to town.”

“Buffy, are you sure?” Tara asked with a worried frown. “We don’t mind being a little smooshed.”

“Nah, it’s good.” Buffy smiled, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s no more than I usually walk on patrol. You all go ahead and I’ll catch up. Just save some of the pummeling for me, ‘kay?” Because really, why wait until the next time around to go for the groin?

Buffy waved cheerily as the Scoobies piled into the convertible, the basket of kittens settled securely onto Willow’s lap, and drove off down the road.

That weird kid, the one Spike had crashed into earlier in the evening, gathered up his broken device, and approached her warily. “Buffy Summers?”

Now that she had a good look at him, he seemed familiar. “Do I know you?”

“I’m Andrew. From Sunnydale High?” Her confusion must have shown on her face, because he flushed. “Tucker’s brother.”

“Oh.” That… was not a recommendation. She waited patiently for him to say something else. Then, when he remained silent, impatiently.

Finally, he looked away. “Yeah. So… Thanks for beating up that guy. He cracked my Very Smart Phone. That was so not cool”

“Your phone is smart?” Buffy looked at the little palm-sized device, confused.

“But I checked and it still works, so… thanks.”

“You’re welcome?” Maybe he wasn’t all bad. At least he was polite.

Another vaguely-familiar guy came up and clapped him on the shoulder. “So. Wanna go play some video games?” Buffy noticed Jonathan, of all people, hovering on the fringes; he gave her a little wave.

Andrew glanced back at Buffy, then glared at the new guy. “Go away, Warren. You just want people to help you take over Sunnydale, and I’m not in. You can go play with yourself.” And then he walked right past Warren to Jonathan.

“I’ve got something really cool to show you. Let’s go to your place. Your mom lets us sit on the couch.” He glared back at Warren one last time, then departed with a slightly-befuddled Jonathan in tow. Muttering in frustration, Warren headed off in a different direction.

Buffy watched them all go, then stretched her arms wide and took in deep lungsful of the night air.

“You’re walking, are you?” Spike stepped forward into her peripheral vision.

She shrugged casually. “Better me than any of them.” She started on her way.

He fell in beside her. “So. We’ve been going through the funfair over and over, yeah?”

“Yep.”

“How many times do you think we…?” She couldn’t see his face, walking next to him, but she suspected he was leering wickedly, from the tone of his voice.

Buffy laughed. “Who knows? Maybe this was the only time. Or maybe….” She took a deep breath, let it out. “Maybe it always happened. Maybe it was inevitable.” She suddenly took his hand, winding her fingers in his. “Maybe it would have happened even without the carnival.”

They walked in silence for a while, the sounds of the carnival fading behind them, but when the night was almost silent, the nocturnal sounds almost drowning out the faint hint of music, Spike gave Buffy’s hand a tug and stepped in front of her, looking at her with a thousand expressions at once, hope and terror and elation and confusion all mingled together in that way he had, so the expression was just… Spike.

“That last thing you said,” he growled. “Been trying to suss it out all this time, and I’m still muddled. Mind explaining?”

Buffy looked down at their joined hands. “Yeah. So, tonight was… well, it was a thing. Kind of a big thing, for me.” She looked up at him, suddenly afraid. “It… it was big for you, too, right?”

“Yeah,” Spike said, voice strangled. He cleared his throat, then repeated the word more clearly. “Yeah. It was big.”

She sighed, relieved. “So I was thinking it was sudden, that it came out of nowhere, but then I realized… it really didn’t. This thing, whatever it is, it’s been growing for months, like… I dunno, maybe a vine? All climbing up into us like a trellis. And tonight, it’s like all the flowers burst into bloom at once, and you look at them and think _wow, flowers!_ like they’re something brand new. Except… they were growing into flowers all along, you know?”

“…I know.”

“And I knew it was growing,” Buffy continued. “I could feel it, and I knew what was coming, but I was… I was scared. Because I didn’t know that they were going to be beautiful flowers. I kept thinking, what if they’re, like, skull flowers? Or poisonous? What if they’re all Little Shop of Horrors and eat people? What if they’re like those really smelly flowers, the ones that smell like a decaying corpse – aren’t they called corpse flowers? – and I actually know what that smells like, it’s really gross, and—“

“Buffy,” Spike interrupted. “I think you might be straining the analogy.”

“Am I?”

“Yeah, a bit.” He took up her other hand, gently. “And you’re babbling.”

Buffy huffed in frustration. “Okay. Sorry, I’m a little nervous. Um… where was I?”

“You were scared of the flowers.”

“Right.” She took another deep breath. “So anyhow, the flowers turned out to be beautiful, and now… now I’m not scared anymore.” She looked up at him, squeezing his fingers. “Now I can say it.”

“Buffy, I—“

“Shut up, Spike,” she said gently.

He looked at her sardonically. “That’s what you were waiting to say? You say that a dozen times a—“

Buffy silenced him with a kiss.

Their hands were still intertwined by their sides when she withdrew, and she tucked Spike’s hands behind her waist before sliding her own up his chest and around his neck, because she wanted him to be paying attention for this part.

Her voice was clear and confident. “I love you, Spike.”

He looked at her like she was a mirage, then groaned and wrapped his arms around her.

“Say it again,” he whispered into her hair.

She said it again, and again, but when he begged for a fourth time, she pushed out of his arms, laughing. “I think we’ve repeated enough things tonight, don’t you?”

Spike’s face suddenly hardened. “That Ethan bloke, he said it wasn’t over. That we’d get pulled back in and repeat the bloody funfair more times, until the energies dissipated.”

“Yeah, so?” Buffy took Spike’s hand up again and started walking down the road, reminded that there was still pummeling on the evening’s agenda. Which wasn’t as good as kissing Spike, but still was not to be missed.

He stalked along next to her, tense. “So we’re gonna forget this, yeah? Like we forgot all the other times. And then the last time through, that’s the one that’ll stick.” He ran his free hand through his hair angrily. “What if… what if we don’t end up with this?”

Buffy turned to him, cupping a hand around his cheek. “Spike. Did you miss the part where I said inevitable?” She firmed up her hand, just enough that he knew she was serious. “The evil carnival didn’t make this happen. _We_ made this happen, all summer, and if in the very end it doesn’t happen at the carnival? It’s still going to happen.” And she kissed him until he believed her. Or at least as long as she could before coming up for air, but she was pretty sure from the look in his eyes afterwards that she’d made him a believer.

They started walking again, and soon they came upon Spike’s ancient black car.

Spike dropped Buffy’s hand and jogged a little ahead, opening the shotgun door for her. “Give you a ride back to town?”

She folded her arms and glared at him.

“What?” he said in an injured tone of voice. “I like opening doors for my lady.”

With an eyeroll, Buffy reached down and pulled her shirt off over her head, sauntering around to the front of the car.

He shut the door and followed her.

Buffy hitched herself up to sit on the hood, feet resting on the chrome bumper. As Spike came around she lay back on her elbows, looking up at him invitingly.

Spike stepped between her knees, running an appreciative hand along her bare torso. “What’s this all about, then?”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, we could hang out and talk about how we expect the Cubs to do this season. Or – and this is just a suggestion – you could put these panties out of their misery once and for all.”

His eyelids drooped low. “Slayer, are you suggesting I rip your knickers off?”

She arched her back suggestively. “I think I’m actually _demanding_ you rip them off.”

He shrugged. “If you insist.” And he flipped her skirt up to her waist, digging his fingers into the front of her underwear, and for a moment they just looked at each other, and then he yanked hard and there was a sharp pull at Buffy’s hips before the seams and elastic gave; he tucked the polka-dotted shreds into his duster pocket and scooted Buffy farther up the hood, bending down to her bare pussy and licking hard through her wetness.

Buffy sighed and squealed and shuddered, enjoying every moment of his tongue on her, but she wanted more and so after a bit, she took hold of his hair, meeting his startled eyes along the length of her body, and she didn’t even have to use words; he groaned and stood back up, pulling her down along the hood until her hips were right at the edge, and buckle, button, zipper, and then he was fitting his cock to her, and he plunged home.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, hooking her ankles for leverage and pulling him into her, and he had her ass in one hand and his other splayed out over her mound so each thrust sent his thumb sliding across her clit and Buffy looked up at him and the stars and the moon and her release sighed through her like a shooting star, sparks invading her vision, and then he laughed and thrust hard, pressed harder, did everything harder and oh god she was coming again, except this one was like a meteor crashing into her, leaving her devastated and breathless, and she laughed and sat up, wrapping her arms around Spike’s back and kissing him sweetly as they pulsed and strove together, until he buried his face in her shoulder, groaning as he gave a final thrust and shuddered and spent himself. Buffy stroked his hair and his back and kissed him anywhere she could reach, until he lifted his head to hers again, and she could kiss him on the lips, short and sweet, like a promise.

“Spike?” Buffy said at last.

“Yes, Buffy?” he murmured.

“Let’s go home.”

They reassembled their clothing in comfortable silence broken with occasional kisses, and then Spike held open the door for her, like a gentleman, and Buffy seated herself like a lady – well, except for the ass-squeeze on her way in, she doubted Miss Manners would sign off on that – and he slid behind the wheel and started the car and drove off towards home. Buffy scooted to the middle of the bench seat and he wrapped his arm tightly around her shoulders, looking down at her every so often, eyes soft and amazed.

“Say it again,” he finally murmured.

“I love you.” It came so easy now. She wondered how many times she’d said it tonight that she didn’t remember.

He heaved a deep, contented sigh. “Love you too.” Then he squeezed her shoulder. “Never said that before.”

“Yes, you have. You told me just a little while ago, when we…”

“Too,” he interrupted, voice rough. “Never got to say _too_.”

“Oh.” Buffy sighed and rubbed her cheek against his chest. “Well, I’ll make sure you get to say it a lot now. Over and over and over again.”

“Yeah?” He looked down at her again. “How about now?”

She obliged.

And so Buffy and Spike drove down the road, leaving the lights and sounds and tastes of the carnival behind them forever.

Or at least until the next adventure.

THE END

Congratulations on helping Buffy and Spike solve the mystery of the Carnivorous Carnival! Would you like to try again? [Go to Chapter 1!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20978552)

[Read the Author’s Notes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20983016)


	139. Chapter 139

Spike parked his DeSoto half a mile away from the vacant lot and lit up a cigarette, waiting for the last dwindling rays of the sun to vanish behind the trees before heading out on his mission. He had hours, of course, but he’d been awake since noon, pacing his crypt, and he was bloody well sick of the company of his own thoughts, that was what.

Not that sitting in his car was any better, he supposed, but at least while he was driving he could pretend to concentrate on something other than how much he’d buggered everything up.

He’d kissed her.

He hadn’t meant to – he knew she wasn’t meant for him, that he was a monster, but she’d been treating him like a friend, like a partner, like a _man_ for months, ever since they’d gotten that nasty Glory business squared away, and there she’d been, sitting beside him on the porch, laughing and bruised and bloody gorgeous, and then somehow her lips had been soft and sweet against his, and if it hadn’t been completely unbelievable he would have sworn she was actually kissing him back for a bit there – but then she’d pulled away and looked at him, her eyes wide with horror, and run on into the house and… he had fled as well, back to the safety of his crypt where he could stare at the dead stone walls and reassure himself that that was where he belonged, among the dead, not mucking about with a living woman, no matter how brilliant and strong and exciting she was, and then _that_ had been too much and he’d scarpered off again to the back room of Willy’s, where he’d learned he had apparently forgotten how to cheat now that he was fighting alongside and chatting with and bloody snogging the bloody slayer.

But _god_ how she kissed!

He closed his eyes for just a moment, tilting his head back and letting the smoke trickle out of his mouth as he relived it, the good part at least, the part before he’d had to admit it’d been a bloody wrong call, like so many of the decisions he’d made over the course of his long existence.

Such as the reason he was headed to a vacant lot at sundown with a basket of bloody kittens.

And… well, the sun was down now.  No reason to delay any further. He crushed out his cigarette in the DeSoto’s overflowing ashtray and took one last peek at the wriggling contents of the basket riding shotgun before he shut the lid firmly and stepped out of the car, turning to stride towards the vacant lot where he was due to meet his loan shark.

Except, as he approached, Spike couldn’t help but notice that the lot was… significantly less vacant than he remembered from his last loan payment. It was, in fact, full right to the edges with striped tents, nightmarishly blinking lights, and rickety-looking rides. The overwhelming smell of deep-fried foods floated on the breeze, and from the depths of the hubbub came the tinkling sounds of a calliope playing some bloody circus tune.

Spike stood agog for a long moment, basket of squirming capitalized interest dangling forgotten from his arm.

“What the bloody hell?”

*

“I’m telling you, it has to be evil!”

Giles cast the barest glance at Buffy, keeping his attention on the road. “Yes, Buffy, I do believe we are all agreed on that point. A circus of this magnitude turning up on the Hellmouth overnight is unlikely to be benign. However, my actual question was, why do you insist on a frontal assault at this very moment? A little more research…”

Buffy interrupted. “No dice, Giles. What if this carnival is actually eating people? Do you know how many kids it could get in one night with the lure of funnel cakes and crappy rides? This is way more important than patrol.”

There was something in her tone of voice that didn’t ring quite true, but Giles couldn’t argue with her logic. “In that case, let us move on to the next question. Why, if this carnival is guaranteed to be evil, are _they_ all tagging along?”

Willow’s voice piped up from the back seat of the convertible, where the Scoobies were squashed like marshmallows. “Funnel cakes and crappy rides?”

Giles cast a disgusted look over his shoulder, to which Willow quirked a smile.

“I mean they’re probably _evil_ funnel cakes and crappy rides, but we can’t just send Buffy out to face those funnel cakes alone. She needs backup, and we are so willing to throw ourselves on the deep-fried-dessert grenade.” Her voice faltered. “Unless it’s actually, you know, a deep-fried _grenade_ , in which case we will probably, um, run.”

“Xander’s prepared to resist the evil deep-fried goodness,” Anya piped up. “He’s been eating Hostess Cupcakes this whole time, to counteract their diabolical attraction.”

A muffled noise from the back seat was probably Xander agreeing through a mouthful of revolting snack cake, but Giles refused to turn and verify that fact, as he preferred not to vomit while driving.

Buffy sighed in exasperation. “Don’t worry, Giles. I’m sure whatever this Carnival of Creepy has to offer, we can handle it. And you never know, it might _not_ be evil.”

“And here I thought four in the back seat was stupidly optimistic.”

*

Ethan Rayne gazed upon his scrying pool, regarding his grand creation with deep satisfaction. It was amazing what one could do with exactly the right artifacts and a rather large dose of creative inspiration.

He hoped his dear old friend Rupert would appreciate the accomplishment.

Truth be told, it hadn’t been all that hard. There had already been a fly-by-night traveling circus meandering down the California coast, so the raw materials had been there. All Ethan had needed to do was… extrapolate. Embellish. Add a sprinkling of dimensional portals, a dash of whimsy, and a hefty dollop of chaos magic, and set it all on the Hellmouth to simmer.

Or, more likely, to boil over.

The best part was, even Ethan himself didn’t know what might happen within the boundaries of his magical fête. That was the beauty of chaos; you didn’t need to fuss over getting any specific results, measuring ingredients and practicing accents and researching the bloody joy out of everything, you just… stirred the pot to see what bubbled up. All Ethan had to do now was sit back and watch the fun.

He couldn’t wait.

*

Buffy drummed her fingers on her thighs as they approached the evil carnival. She was antsy and on edge, and she kept telling herself it was because they were heading into peril, but… It was because they were heading into peril. It _was._

It totally wasn’t because she was avoiding… patrol. Patrol was what she was avoiding, or rather what she wasn’t avoiding, because she wasn’t being avoidy at all, she was one-hundred-percent non-avoidy-girl, because there really wasn’t anyone to avoid anyhow, and the whole point was, evil carnival.

Probably-evil carnival.

Whatever.

Her little litany of convincing-herself got her all the way to the parking area at the front of the carnival and out of the car, but then of course the house of aces-and-eights came tumbling down around her ears when they all made their way to the entrance, and there he was.

Spike.

The guy she was one-hundred-percent not trying to avoid.

He was staring up at the carnival with an expression somewhere between disgust and confusion, a lidded picnic basket draped incongruously over his arm, and Buffy froze in her tracks, because… it was weird. It was just too weird, and for a brief panicked second she thought maybe she could make a break for it, accede to Giles’s suggestion of more research and leave the carnival-busting for another night, but then Willow called out a greeting.

Spike turned in shock, then shrugged and sauntered in their direction, greeting the other girls and clapping Xander on the back – making him spit out cupcake bits – and trading some snarky insult with Giles, and Buffy still hung back a bit.

Because, well… things had been weird between them – or would have been weird, if she had seen him, so mostly just weird in her head – since the other night. No, she corrected herself – because pedantry was a fantastic distraction when someone you totally weren’t avoiding showed up unexpectedly to put the kibosh on the not-avoiding-thing – things had been weird between them since…

 

Choose a Buffy episode:

Blood Ties [GO TO CHAPTER 6](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20978780)

Triangle [GO TO CHAPTER 24](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20979629)

I Was Made to Love You [GO TO CHAPTER 51](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20980751)

Spiral [GO TO CHAPTER 84](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20981645)


	140. Chapter 140

Buffy accepted the deep-fried Twinkie from the visored teen cashier with a sigh of anticipation. She tried to eat relatively nutritiously most of the time, but given that she was a college student and her fellows basically lived on beer and pizza, that mostly meant she ate the occasional salad and went for frozen yogurt instead of over-processed pastries when dessert rolled around. The end result of this was that she was always vaguely hungry, and had a constant craving for creamy Hostess filling.

But tonight, she was at the carnival, which was a special occasion despite the evil, and she was on a date, which made it even more special even though she was dating someone usually classified as evil, and furthermore Spike was buying, which as everyone knew immediately negated the caloric content of the food, and so screw it. She was going to indulge.

And actually, that sounded like a good plan for the evening. Indulging. Indulging in carnival food and indulging in some mayhem and most of all, indulging all those delectable fantasies she hadn’t been able to wipe from her brain.

Spike rejoined her, stuffing his change in the pockets of his duster, and jerked his head towards an empty picnic table with a good vantage point of the midway.

“Sit for a spell, Slayer?”

Buffy nodded, nibbling delicately at the end of her hot pastry as they sat. The cake was soft and tender, the cream warm and oozing, and she let out a little moan of pleasure. God, she would probably regret this later, maybe even feel sick, but it sure tasted good in the moment.

Spike settled next to her, back to the table, elbows hiked up, but he was watching her eat like she was a Passions marathon – she knew what this was like because he’d talked her into watching one with him earlier in the summer, which had been an illuminating and weirdly entertaining experience – and she found herself watching him back through her eyelashes. He had this way of going completely still, eyes intent and relentless like a cat watching a moth, and it was both disconcerting and somehow arousing, because she was fully aware that he was no housecat, he was more like a panther ready to pounce, and… she kind of wanted him to.

No, no more being coy and avoidy. She _really_ wanted him to pounce. She was indulgey-girl tonight, and she was damn well going to indulge.

So she took her time eating the Twinkie, swirling her tongue through the warm cream and watching as Spike’s tongue crept out the tiniest bit, as if he were tasting the sweetness on her lips. She let her eyes linger on his lips as she nibbled at the cake, and drift down his throat as she licked at the cream, and he was shifting closer to her now, his thigh pressed against hers, and when one arm crept down and snaked around her waist, she just closed her eyes and ate more lasciviously, reading his arousal in the pulse of his hand at her waist, until the Twinkie was all gone and she was left with nothing but the stick.

She opened her eyes and met Spike’s, closing her teeth deliberately around the bit of wood and scraping the last bits of pastry off. He groaned slightly and leaned in, and she kissed him, tender and sweet, the cherry on top of her sweet treat.

She pulled away from his clinging lips a moment later. “We have to find the kitten,” she whispered breathily.

“Sod the kitten,” Spike breathed back, kissing her again.

But Buffy pulled away again. “Here’s the thing, Spike,” she said, trying to make her voice firm instead of sultry and not really succeeding. “I like your head where it is. You know, attached to your body?” She gave him one last lingering kiss. “I can’t imagine why…”

Spike rolled his eyes, then fell back against the table, grouchily scanning the area. “Right. Let’s get this done, then.” Finally he nodded his head off to the right. “There.”

Buffy followed his gaze and watched as the Siamese kitten cautiously ventured into a cave along the path of what looked like a long wide gutter, though she couldn’t see very clearly through a screen of foliage. “Klondike Log Jam!” announced a huge sign above the line entrance, and the accompanying illustration indicated it was some sort of water ride.

Spike raised his eyebrows, lolling his head back to meet her eyes. “Ready to get _wet_ , Slayer?” he said in a tone of voice so filthy Buffy felt like she needed a shower. Except she needed Spike to also be in the shower, scrubbing her down.

But all she could do was nod, because… yeah. She _was_ ready to get wet.

 _God,_ was she ready.

*

Spike stepped cautiously into the floating log. The logs were apparently designed for very friendly riders, with a raised bench down the middle and no seat backs except for the rearmost passenger. Spike claimed that rear seat for himself, holding Buffy’s hand as she settled in front of him.

Another couple was heading for their log, but Spike flashed a bit of fang up at the attendant. “This one’s full,” he said pointedly, and the attendant gulped in gratifying fear and pulled the lever to set them loose down the channel.

Buffy twisted to glare suspiciously over her shoulder. “Spike, did you just…?”

Spike returned her gaze innocently. “Just made a suggestion, love.”

The path of the ride was screened with plastic greenery and Styrofoam rocks – undoubtedly to give it a dash of real-Klondike-wilderness ambiance – and the logs were spaced far out along the route, so it was like being in their own little world. Spike sent a quick prayer up to whatever higher power might be on the side of a creature like himself, then slipped his arms around Buffy’s waist, encouraging her to slide back. She huffed out a sigh that said clearly she knew exactly what he was about, but she scooted back anyhow until she was nestled up against him, relaxing back against his chest.

Spike let his eyes close and lowered his head to press a light kiss to her neck, and god, it was heaven, having her pressed up against him, warm and strong and _his_ for at least the space of this ride, her hair soft under his lips and her chest rising and falling with every breath – and she was breathing faster now, he noticed with interest. Perhaps her little tease with that cream-filled torture device had affected her as well…

God, it was risky, but risk was what Spike did, it was who he was, and so he tightened his arms about her and slid his lips up to her ear, catching her earlobe between his teeth. “Wonder how long this ride is,” he said softly.

Buffy quivered, sliding her hands back to grasp his knees. “Who knows?”

He pressed his forehead to the nape of her neck, then slid his hands under her shirt. “Long enough for this?” He’d known she wasn’t wearing a bra – he’d have needed to be dust on the wind not to notice – but it still felt like a miracle when he glided his hands up along her skin to cup her perfect breasts, her nipples rock-hard against his palms.

“Oh god,” Buffy breathed, arching into his hands. Her fingers were digging into his thighs painfully, and her arse was pressed right up against his cock, and he revised his definition of heaven, because this was more than he’d ever imagined, Buffy wanted him, she _wanted_ him, and he felt humbled and powerful all at once, feeling her shiver against him.

Their log rounded a corner, bumping against the sides of the channel, and they headed into the first hill of the ride; Spike grinned and spread his fingers to expose Buffy’s nipples to the cold splash of water at the bottom; it soaked the front of her shirt and she gasped at the shock, falling back against him. He nibbled along the line of her neck. “Cold, pet?”

They were rounding another curve, and Buffy squeezed his knees. “That’s the tunnel the kitten went into,” she said urgently, then abruptly cupped her hands over Spike’s. “Don’t stop. I can catch it.”

Spike laughed into her shoulder. “Wouldn’t dream of stopping,” he muttered brokenly, then slid one hand free, gliding it over her quivering stomach.

“What are you doing?” Buffy shifted restlessly against him.

“Whole point of this ride is to get wet,” he purred, tucking his hand under the hem of her skirt. “Far be it from me to argue.” And he stroked his fingers over her panties, along the seam of her glorious quim.

“Oh!”

“Ah, I see you’ve got a head start.” The damp cotton under his fingers shifted as she pressed into his hand, and he indulged her, stroking the fabric against her. “Watch out for the kitten.”

As their boat entered the tunnel, Spike scooped his fingers up and in, inside the elastic and down through her glorious wetness – oh god, she was _hot_ and her clit was hard and throbbing against his fingertips and he swore bitterly into her shoulder as she cried out, her voice echoing through the tunnel like a symphony. Spike caught a flash of motion out of the corner of his eye as the Siamese kitten startled at the noise and dashed out of the tunnel.

“The kitten!” Buffy moaned, pulsing her hips against his hand – which serendipitously also meant pulsing against his cock.

“Can wait,” Spike growled, nuzzling into her throat.

“Okay,” Buffy said faintly, and then she let her head fall back on his shoulder.

They went down another hill and Spike lifted his hand, yanking her skirt up so the splash of cold water soaked Buffy’s panties this time, and then dove right back in because he could tell she was close, and as they cranked up to the top of what had to be the final hill, the highest one, he egged her on, muttering encouragements into her ear, until she was frantic against his hand, and at the very top of the hill, their log teetering over the edge, he sank his teeth into her earlobe and pinched her nipple and gave her one long sweep of his hand all through her wetness, giving her clit a careful flick with his fingernail, and then cupped his hand over her as she came and they fell, a last huge splash of water baptizing them at the bottom, which was just right, because Spike had found religion, he was born again, washed clean by Buffy’s pure celestial ecstasy.

He solicitously rearranged Buffy’s clothing as they floated back towards the dock, offering Buffy a hand up and out when he realized her legs were shaking.

When they were on the platform again, their log being turned over to some family of four, Buffy turned to him, and… her eyes. He had never seen that look in them before, not directed at her twat ex, nor at Angel, nor even at Spike himself when she’d been magicked into loving him. He couldn’t even name what he was seeing in them now, except that they were… hers.

And maybe a little bit his.

She opened her mouth like she wanted to say something, but then her eyes flickered to the side, past his shoulder, and he turned to look. The Siamese kitten was out in the open walkway, chasing a bloody butterfly, and as they watched it ducked into one of the tents.

Buffy caught up his hand and grinned. “I think we have a rogue kitten to catch.”

She followed the kitten and Spike followed her, because that was what he did. That was who he was.

He followed Buffy.

 

Which tent did the kitten go into?

Arcade: [GO TO CHAPTER 45](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20980640)

Sideshows: [GO TO CHAPTER 18](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9253823/chapters/20979449)


	141. Author's Notes

Created for the 2016 Elysian Fields Artistic Anniversary Challenge. Challenge and banner by Puddinhead. Challenge details as follows:

Season/Episode: This would happen during season 5 or 6, your pick and would deal with Spike's kitten gambling issue. Takes place at a carnival in which various choices lead to a multitude of tents and log ride and options...with dire or hysterical outcomes. Buffy can be there to follow him or to thwart her own big bad - you decide.

Must have:

  1. Principal Snyder (ghost or zombie) as a carnival barker.  
2\. A Pokemon GO player who has gone off the rails.  
3\. Must follow the Choose Your Own Adventure format, with different choices leading to different outcomes (at least three).  
Can have:  
1\. Any of the other Scoobies you want. Bonus points for using the Nerd Trio.  
2\. Sexy fun with caramel apples and cotton candy.  
3\. Working into the carnival all of the 'Big Bads" (Angelus or Dru for Season 2)  
Can’t have:  
1\. Giles ever cleaning his glasses, no matter how badly he may need to. Bonus points for making this a running gag.  
2\. Xander saying anything.  
3\. Circus animals held in crappy conditions like they are in real life cause that shit bums me out.



(Note: To make the flashbacks work, I had to allow Xander occasional speech, but he didn’t say anything once they reached the carnival…)

While I tried to remain true to the spirit of the original CYOA books, I did make several Executive Decisions that differ from that format:

 -CYOA books are generally written in 2nd person (“You”) which makes them very personal and immediate, but doesn’t work too well when you want to show the PoV of multiple characters. I also kind of feel 2nd person smut would be a shade creepy, so I went with 3rd person; I did make all the choices Spike/Buffy/kittens though, to make it consistent.

 -Far fewer of my endings involve gory miserable deaths for the protagonists, because writing Spuffy death bums me out. (Some of the endings still bum me out.)

 -Even with this funky format, I felt having a satisfying Spuffy development and resolution – at least in the successful endings - was important. If you’ve read through multiple times, you’ll probably have noticed that certain conversations and events are repeated in multiple timelines, or there are different events that have the same net effect on the characters, and there are several points at which the timelines reunite. Hopefully, if you made it to where they have defeated the Carnivorous Carnival, you also got a good Spuffy experience along the way.

Additional notes: I decided that in a world without Anthony Stewart Head, Simon Pegg’s career moved a little faster, and thus the movie “Shaun of the Dead” was released much earlier than in the real world, because I really wanted Xander to reference it.  *is shameless* Also, there really is a Sharky’s stand at the California State Fair that sells chili-cheese-covered deep-fried blooming onions. However, it is not to my knowledge run by a shark-headed loan shark.

Thanks to Puddinhead for the banner and challenge that inspired this; everyone that hangs out on Chatzy for brainstorming and egging me on; and the_moonmoth, Sigyn, zabjade, Ree, Darkvoid116, and myrabeth for beta-reading scenes and snippets and generally being awesome and inspirational. Any mistakes that remain are mine and not theirs. Finally, thanks to angelic_amy and the whole EF mod team for the banner challenge extravaganza!

And now… more than you ever wanted to know about the structure!

The main plot (leaving out the pre-carnival introduction and the resolutions) is set up in 3 acts, which revolve around the 3 kittens. Each kitten is associated with a particular ride or attraction in each act, and then each act also has 3 carnival treat options. (Not counting the Deep-Fried Butter interlude.) Out of those 9 options, 3 immediately lead to unsuccessful endings, leaving 6 main paths in each act. Each of those 6 paths then has another choice, splitting them into 12. In Act I, 2 of these paths are unsuccessful endings. In Act II, the 4 paths involving the Arcade have yet another split, yielding a total of 16 paths at that level, of which 3 are unsuccessful endings. In Act III, 2 of the 12 paths are unsuccessful and 1 path has a final level with 4 choices, so there are 13 scenarios that make it to the finale. In the finale, there are three main endings (which I denoted GOOD, BETTER, & BEST) each of which occurs 3 times with different lead-ins, and also 2 booby-prize non-endings. In the end, there are 16 unsuccessful endings and 9 successful endings, where “successful” is defined as “defeating the big bad.”


End file.
